The Chronicles of the Dragon Rider:The Lion,The Witch,and The Wardrobe
by Ragnarok shaolin
Summary: Many worlds exist, beyond the limits of our own. Narnia, Alagaësia, the Woods between. Most of the time, their walls are strong and sturdy, holding away their inhabitants from adventuring. But one day, a wall broke, and one person slipped through. And the result changed Narnia, and its guardians. This is the tale of Eragon the Selfless. Brother of Aslan, and defender of Narnia.
1. Chapter 1

Prologue

 **So, I've noticed that very little people have done a proper Inheritance cycle/Narnia crossover. Here's mine! This is my first fanfic. Please, rate and review. Flames will be ignored.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own The Chronicles of Narnia or the Inheritance Cycle. Those rights belong to C.S. Lewis and Christopher Paolini respectively. Have Fun!**

Eragon sighed and lay on his bed in the Professor's mansion, contemplating the many things on his mind. Most vividly, and probably the happiest at that point, was the scrying of the four Pevensie siblings, who he had just finished observing, whom he knew would have been evacuated here, but was unaware of the precise time. It filled him with quiet joy and hope, knowing that the White Witch's reign would soon be coming to an end. He sympathised with those four, seeing them having to experience war at such a young age, younger than when his Saphira had hatched for him, even if they were not fighting on the front lines as he once did. He shook his head to clear his head of that line of thought, as the old anger and hatred rose, and with it, the face of that traitor... the one who still held his Saphira's, his mate's body, incarcerated in stone, the proudest of the 'trophies' adorning the White Witch's courtyard, the eggs she carried never seeing the light of day. But immediately, his anger softened, as he thought to himself ' _But... It wasn't really all her fault...'  
_ ' _How so? She_ _ **tricked**_ _and_ _ **betrayed**_ _you, and because of her, your love is forever frozen, watching the millennia pass but not being able to do anything about it.'_ A small, snide voice in the back of his mind remarked.  
' _The death of her dragon had torn her apart, and she was influenced and easily manipulated by the White Witch.'_ He retorted, as was his answer every time _that_ voice remarked upon his situation.  
' _Ah... the old answer. The_ _ **reliable**_ _answer.'_ the voice sneered. ' _But answer me this, Eragon_ _ **Shadeslayer**_ _. How much of it was the White Witch's manipulation and how much was her own want to spite and harm you for having what she could never have?'_ and with that, the voice faded into the back of his mind. Eragon struggled to come up with an answer to the voice's question, but was unable to properly give any thought to it, without allowing his emotions to cloud his judgement, and abruptly dropped the matter, returning his attention the four Pevensie siblings, examining their traits and characteristics.  
Peter; the brave and valiant 'father figure' of the group, fiercely protective of his kin, even though he was 13 summers old. He would be a wise and just leader, and would lead the Narnians well, should Aslan be sacrificed during the war, knowing the extent his brother would take to protect any and all children, even if they had betrayed him, and as a king once the White Witch had been overthrown.  
Susan; fiery and with a fierce temper to rival a dragon's, should she be riled, on the inside, disguised with an icy mask to those she did not know on the outside. He chuckled at that thought, imagining the conversations she and Saphira would have once the White Witch was defeated.  
Edmund; the spiteful and rebellious one of the four, though, like Peter, he cared deeply for his family, though he hid it well. Knowing of the White Witch's penchant for deceit and manipulation, he would be the most easily convinced of the four, should he be caught alone and unawares.  
And Lucy; the sweet, sensitive young girl, no more than 8 summers old, but already her innocence had been torn to shreds by the war that had started a year ago. His muscles tensed as he restrained himself from sending the glass of water on the table to the left of him flying. If not for the fact that the cause of her lost innocence was an entire war, he would have hunted down and tortured the unlucky man or woman who had done the deed, and denied him or her the mercy of a quick death. Looking down at the sheets, he saw his mate's comforting eye staring at him from the page of his memoirs. Staring into their cerulean depths gave him a quiet satisfaction, but also hope, knowing that soon, he would finally see the real thing, instead of this cheap imitation set in paper for all eternity.

As it was, he opened the book, reading of that which started the happiest, and the saddest times of his millennia-long life, _waiting_.

 **Dun... dun... dunnnnnn! It's the prologue, and already there are mysteries!**

 **First off, I will be clear: Eragon and Saphira do love each other here as much as they do in other fanfics with an EragonxSaphira fanfics, but this is not an EragonxSaphira. I suppose you could say that all the interesting things in that relationship have already happened (** _ **wink, wink, nudge, nudge)**_ **, in terms of the timeline of** _ **this**_ **fanfic.** **All shall be explained in due course! Now, back to the mysteries!**

 **Why are Eragon and Aslan brothers?**

 **How did Eragon end up in the 'normal' world?**

 **And WHO is the 'traitor'? (I suspect some of you already know the answer to this particular mystery. To those who don't, HINT: It's not an OC.**

 **One last thing: Watch out for wild hamsters. Ferocious thing, wild hamsters!**

 **Ta-Ta for now.**

 ***Shunshins away a cloud of smoke***


	2. Chapter 2: Meetings and Revelations

_**Vworp…vworp…vworp…**_

 ***steps out of TARDIS***

 **HEY, everyone! The Doctor's let me borrow this for a while, so… FUN! Anyway, here's the next chapter.**

 **Minor spoilers for the beginning and the end of the Inheritance cycle, and one small spoiler for the later part of the Chronicles of Narnia ahead!**

 **Also, and this statement will make a lot more sense when you read this chapter: Caspar is simply an alias for Eragon, whilst his real identity is a secret from the Pevensie siblings. I cannot be held accountable if you get confused.**

 **Statement No.2 that will make more sense when you read this chapter: Think of the book Eragon has as the entire Inheritance cycle in one book, even though its title is clearly** _ **'Eragon'.**_

 **Disclaimer: I don't own The Chronicles of Narnia or the Inheritance Cycle. Those rights belong to C.S. Lewis and Christopher Paolini respectively. If I did I'd be VERY rich. Have fun!**

Chapter 1

Eragon smiled to himself as he heard the main door of the house slam shut, and the faint voice of the caretaker, Mrs Macready, already expounding instructions to the four siblings. He enhanced his hearing with a quick spell, just in time to hear:  
"NO touching of the historical artefacts!" Looks like someone had almost already broken the cardinal rule within half a minute of setting foot in the house. That had to be a new record.  
"And above all, there shall be no… disturbin'…of the Professor." She whispered, presumably to the Pevensies. Well, that was one rule which didn't completely apply to him, but he would have to play along with it to appear normal. As normal as a millennia-old Dragon rider posing as a fifteen-year-old evacuee could be anyway. He cancelled the spell, returning to his book, lingering over the passage describing his mate's growth from a tiny dragoness barely the length of his forearm, to a majestic being, wise and beautiful beyond her years. That Italian scholar, Paolini, who he had entrusted to write this book, had truly understood how he had felt for his Saphira, and he was still inwardly thanking him, nearly a century later.

/

The four Pevensie children opened the door to the bedroom, Peter in front, expecting to find it empty. Instead, they found that, sitting on the bed directly opposite from the door, was a boy with dark brown hair, carefully trimmed and cut, and forest-green eyes, lanky, but well-built. Lying in his lap was thick book, bound with a strange material, with the name ' _Eragon'_ picked out in gold lettering. Hearing the door hinges creak as they opened, the boy looked up and slid off the bed, placing the book on a bedside table, and walking over to the newcomers, his every move lithe and graceful, like a cat, stuck out a hand, which Peter accepted, seeming a bit confused.  
"Good to meet you all. My name is Caspar Kilkenny. Professor Kirke did tell me there were more evacuees coming here, but he never told me when, and I am ashamed to admit I was getting impatient. What are yours?"  
Peter blinked, momentarily stunned by the blunt greeting, then answered in return "My name's Peter Pevensie, and this is Susan, Edmund and Lucy." gesturing to each in turn. "How old are you?"  
"Fifteen years old." Eragon replied casually. He returned the question to the four siblings, who he found were 13, 12, 10 and 8 years old. "So… how about you get settled in, and then we can talk more about each other, hmm?" he suggested, squeezing past Peter and Edmund and walked through the door.  
"Well… He's going to be a fun one." Edmund remarked. "You've got competition, Peter."  
"And what do you mean by that, Ed?" Peter growled back, resisting the urge to massage his temples with his fingers, his brother already rubbing him up the wrong way.  
"I mean, he's fifteen, male, and yet he manages to move like royalty, or a ballet dancer." Peter made to shout something back at Edmund, but Susan interrupted, chastising them both with "Come on, you two! Less than ten minutes in this house and you're already having a shouting match? Let's take Caspar's advice and unpack."  
"Yes, _Mom._ " Edmund shot back.  
"Ed!" Peter shouted, barely reining in his temper.  
"You know, I'm pretty sure there's supposed to be some sibling rivalry, but that's taking it a bit _too_ far." A familiar voice drawled in an amused tone from the doorway. The Pevensie children turned to face the doorway, where Eragon was leaning against the doorframe, with a smile playing on his lips. They would swear later they saw his eyes flash from forest green to cerulean blue for an instant.  
" _This_ " Susan replied stiffly, "is normal."  
"Oh really?" Eragon remarked. "I really _don't_ want to see you when you're going all out, then."  
"If you don't mind my asking, where are you from?" Lucy interjected, hoping to prevent another shouting match between her brothers.  
"I'm from up North, in the Pennines." Eragon lied, hating the deception, but knowing the need.  
"If so, why did you evacuate here? The Germans don't care about bombing the Midlands! You would've been safe there!" Edmund butted in hotly, seeing the _oh-so-obvious_ mistake.  
"I _originally_ lived in the Pennines, with my aunt and uncle. My uncle mostly. My aunt passed away when I was three. I moved to London when I was eight to live with my mother and father." Eragon corrected himself indifferently, not at all fazed by the youngest brother's attitude. ' _Well, they aren't technically lies'_ he argued with himself, ' _more like half-truths.'_ But even with that excuse, he still felt guilty about deceiving them, half-truths or not. Peter, apparently mollified by that answer, proceeded to question their new roommate about the many aspects of his 'life', and Eragon returned this tenfold, questioning all four siblings of their experiences before their forced evacuation, and once satisfied, returned to reading his book, returning to the section detailing the many interactions between him and his mate, both good and…less good. He couldn't really call any of their conversations bad, looking back in hindsight. And once again he yearned for his Saphira in his mind, as a friend and a balm for his troubled mind, as he had done so many times in the past when they had been apart, both before and after they had realised their true feelings for each other. Finally, Susan asked the question that was currently running around all their brains:  
"Caspar, who is this… _Eragon_?" almost tasting the name in her mouth, as if attempting to understand the language, "and _why_ is his name only one letter removed from the word _dragon_?" She questioned, laying down on her own bed, her mind tired from the endless barrage of questions fired at her by Eragon, who woken from his reverie, gently closed the book, and focused his attention on the eldest Pevensie female.  
"Firstly, it is a fictional work (he nearly grimaced at having to call his own life _fictional)_ , so for the bad name (he barely stifled a snort at this), you can blame the author, one Christopher Paolini, as I recall. It turns out he was an Italian scholar from the 1800s. But there is a rumour", he whispered, leaning in closer "that Paolini was inspired by an ancient manuscript from the 1500s, which apparently detailed a war between dragons and immortal humans (elves, he added absently in his mind.), and other such _absurdities_ (once again nearly grimacing at the word, knowing full well that each and every _absurdity_ was true, having ordered those same Italians to create that manuscript and book he now held.), many millennia ago. "The plot follows a boy of about my own age, named Eragon, who discovers a dragon egg while hunting, which later hatches for him, forming a bond that, quoting the book, ' _transcends empires_ '. It does precisely that, as both Eragon and his dragon kill the evil king, named Galbatorix, along with the help of his friends and sail off into the sunset, yada, yada, yada." He summarised. "Ironically, Eragon doesn't actually kill Galbatorix himself." He mused, chuckling about having to talk about his own deeds in the third person. "Do you want to know how he snuffs it?" he stopped, checking all four children were nodding, before continuing, "He makes Galbatorix experience and understand everything he has done, and because Galbatorix can't cope with the attack of conscience, and effectively turns himself into a living time-bomb by enacting E=MC2 upon himself." Seeing three blank, confused faces and one understanding one, he chuckled and tuned out Susan's explanation of Einstein's equation of mass-energy equivalence, watching the siblings' faces cycle through confusion, understanding, amusement and then horror, before turning abruptly back to him to ask the same question, but beaten to the punch by Eragon, who simply stated, "He survives." ' _After all,'_ he remarks, ' _I_ _ **am**_ _the living proof.'_ Returning his attention to the children, he finished his summary by adding his own two cents, "Confusing-to-explain ending aside, it's a bit clichéd, but I like it. It sets a good example for anyone who wants to follow it." chuckling all the while at having to call his own life clichéd. ' _Of course,_ ' he thought bitterly to himself, ' _that's only the first part of the story_ '. All four siblings, content at having their question answered, returned to laying on their beds, chatting amiably about completely mundane topics with their new friend, like the siblings' education (Eragon was pleasantly surprised by Susan, who could keep on track of the amount of knowledge he liked to rattle off), their likes and dislikes, and their plans for their futures (' _Those are going to be put on hold for a while.'_ Eragon snickered mentally), until Edmund, ever the tactless younger Pevensie, broke the silence that had fallen after all other topics had been exhausted, with a question aimed at Eragon:  
"Caspar, have you ever had a girlfriend?" He asked, smirking maliciously, hoping to fluster the teenager, knowing that most men would not freely talk about their love life. Susan and Peter's expressions turned murderous and were about to each give Edmund a heavy reprimanding, but were both interrupted by Eragon's dark laughter, who, with an evil smirk to rival Edmund's, interjected, "I know you two want to give Edmund a good verbal lashing, but I think what I have to say might be a better deterrent." He returned his gaze to Edmund, his eyes flashing a dangerous cerulean as he began talking (a fact which did not go unnoticed by the four Pevensie children, especially Edmund, who was being forced to stare directly into those twinkling rings of lapis-lazuli).  
"First, and most importantly, I must emphasise this fact: It was _young_ love. We were stupid… a-and foolish and… moronic", spitting out the last word like it was something poisonous. "I was, anyway." His voice breaking with emotion as he spun a tale of love and regret, scorn and acceptance, loss and second chances, of a beautiful girl named Saphira (…Eyes more vibrant that the purest sapphire…), all the while his tone coloured by the longing and want for his lost mate, and his anger and hatred at those who had stolen her away from him. ' _Really,'_ he thought to himself spitefully, _'the story I've created may be absurd, given my 'age', but who would believe the entire truth here: That I mated for life with a dragon? Even the Narnians would call that ridiculous!'_ As he recited the final part of his story to the siblings, the face of that _**traitor**_ rose up, unbidden, to the fore of his mind, and the Pevensies clearly saw Eragon's pupils become slitted and draconic, remaining thus until he finished his story, whereupon they reverted back to their usual forest-green, unslitted shape. Eragon slipped off the bed, and stalked over to the doorway, muttering something about 'needing air', before leaving the room, slamming the door behind him with a loud BANG, leaving four sheet-white faces with wide eyes behind him, not only from his story, nor the change in his eyes, but the pure, unadulterated hatred and intent to kill, maim and burn that had raged in those sapphire depths. They all looked at each other, not needing to say anything to tell others which question was reverberating in each of their minds:

 _ **Who, or what, is Caspar?**_

/

Eragon was glowering at a pretty vase, wanting to smash it, as he sat, holding a cup of the Professor's best hot cocoa, in the Professor's study. Even after the rage in which he had expended most of his energy and hate breaking all the furniture in the house (and swiftly repairing all of it), he still felt the instinct to _killbreakmaimburn_ brought on by reciting that tale, however much abridged, from the draconic side of his nature. After meeting the Pevensies, he was almost certain that Edmund would be the one to be tricked by the White Witch, and when that had come to pass, he would take great pleasure in making sure that Edmund got the message. It would be a good idea to knock some common sense into the boy, he added absently. There was a reason that there were brains in men's skulls, instead of rocks, to paraphrase his father. Returning his attention to the old man seated opposite him, he sipped his cocoa, nearly scalding his tongue, but not caring a whit, and set the cup back on the table. The Professor sighed, and asked the question they both knew was coming; "How far did you go?"  
"Saphira's eyes." Eragon responded in clipped, impartial tones, speaking no more than necessary, lest the anger he had just wrested control from returned.  
"And why did you go that far?" The Professor questioned, whilst knowing full well that he was the most dangerous path of questioning, but he _knew_ that his safety was assured. After all, the 'boy' had sworn an oath to him and Aslan in the ancient language, as well as Aslan's father, of all people (if the Emperor-Beyond-The-Sea could even be categorized as a person), that no harm would befall him by Eragon's hands. Eragon reverted to the ancient language, muttering a choice curses about Edmund, before switching dialects, and answering the Professor's question, scowling.  
"Edmund asked about my love life, and I gave him the normal story, but at the end, I saw… _ **her**_ …face, and that was enough."A snarl he could not restrain ripped out of him on the word 'her', his eyes immediately becoming dangerously draconic and his canines elongated. The Professor was certain that if he was anyone else, those teeth would have been at his throat out of the sheer overpowering _want_ from Eragon's draconic side to do anything to expend the pent-up rage. Eragon sighed, and stood up, taking a deep, calming breath, reverting the more draconic parts of his appearance back to human, as not to alarm his roommates when he returned.  
"Wherever are you going?" the Professor enquired, hoping that Eragon was not going to do anything rash.  
"I _intend_ to apologise to the Pevensies for scaring them. Whether or not they accept it is their choice." Eragon reluctantly admitted, knowing that many people would use that he had done as an excuse to never forgive him.  
"And I can trust you not to do anything rash?" the Professor asked hopefully, a small smile playing on his lips. Eragon's own lips quirked upwards at his, as he shot back, "Define _rash_." The old conversations he had with his mate always came back to him, it seemed, one way or the other. The Professor shook his head in amusement at Eragon's pedantic before specifying, "I trust you are not going to forcibly drag those four into Narnia?"  
Eragon smiled, muttering "I promise I will not" in the ancient language, before promptly leaving the office, heading to the bedroom, already formulating an apology in his head. Quicker than thought, he arrived at the door to the dorm-room, hearing the four siblings still 'arguing'. The fact that they could do this at any time, in any and all conditions… It gave him hope, almost, knowing that these would be the people who would restore Narnia to its former glory, and would never lose sight of what was important. Eragon sighed, knowing that he was just delaying the inevitable, and opened the door, his hand raised, palms open and facing towards the children in a non-threatening gesture, before promptly rolling his eyes mentally at the looks he was receiving. ' _Aslan, give me strength'_ , he moaned internally, _'this is going to take a while, isn't it?'_ He swore he could hear his brother laughing at that, and delivered a pointed mental glare in the direction of the wardrobe, as he launched into his lengthy apology.

 **So, how did you like this chapter? And (surprise, surprise!) there are more mysteries, my favourite! Aren't I evil? (** _ **Insert maniacal laugh**_ **).**

 **Yes, I know I name-dropped Paolini, but personally, if he reads this, I don't think he'll mind.**

 **I would, however, like to draw your attention to one in particular mystery in particular. (Spoilers for 'The Voyage of the Dawn Treader' abound) I said how Eragon had sworn an oath to the Emperor-Beyond-The-Sea, and since we never, EVER, 'see' him in the books or the movies, I am assuming his physical form cannot leave Aslan's Country. Adding to this the fact that those who enter Aslan's Country cannot ever leave, like Reepicheep, I pose this question:**

 **How did Eragon get in AND out of Aslan's country?**

 **I am promising you right now, you will see Narnia next chapter!**

 **Now, if you don't mind, I've got to get this beauty *pats TARDIS* back to The Doctor (** _ **cough, cough,**_ **possessive 10,000-year-old time travellers,** _ **cough, cough**_ **,) *checks watch* 10 minutes ago. I love time machines! Allons-y!**

 **See you next time!**


	3. Chapter 3: Arrivals and Discoveries

**Hello everyone! I'm back!**

 **Two chapters in one day… I'm on a roll!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own The Chronicles of Narnia or the Inheritance Cycle. Those rights belong to C.S. Lewis and Christopher Paolini respectively. If I did I'd be VERY rich. Have fun!**

Chapter 2

Time passed, as it was its wont to do, and the Pevensies accepted Eragon's apology, ("…Yes, it did _actually_ happen, you weren't hallucinating, and no, I wasn't doing it on purpose…), and the four evacuees and dragon-rider became close friends, and a role-model and a confidant to each:  
To Peter, he was a friend who understood the hardships of being a 'leader' and a big brother (Eragon was, after all, very adept at that, after having to lead the Varden, when Nasuada had been kidnapped.) and, ironically, became a pseudo-big brother to Peter (much to Peter's eternal embarrassment after Edmund had found out).  
To Susan, he was an academic accomplice, who could answer any question Susan could throw at him, and would throw back some questions of his own, some moral, and some from his extensive knowledge, which, without fail, dumbfounded Susan for at least a week (and some were left completely unanswered, to Susan's endless chagrin). They would often play 'games' which tested the limits of both their intellects (Eragon would silently thank Oromis and the libraries he had shadowed in Europe, as well as Asia and America, after most of these 'games').  
To Edmund, he displayed a personality that was at times mischievous, and at others passive, almost daring the younger boy to crack the serene visage, whilst promising no _immediate_ retribution should he do so (Much to Eragon's dismay, he would later learn that he had been used as a verbal punching bag, and Edmund would forever thank his lucky stars that his friend had an in-built warning system, telling him to stop, when those forest-green eyes, without exception, began flickering cerulean).  
And to Lucy, he was a true friend, a companion who would never deny her anything without an _**exceptionally**_ good reason, and when _that_ did happen, he always made it up to her, by giving her an insight into his own life, his **true** life, (though he was very careful to reveal no important details.), that he always kept hidden from the other siblings.  
It was, in fact, during one of his 'games' with Susan, that Eragon seized the chance he had been waiting for.

"Gas…tro…vascular".  
After numerous rounds of testing about Ancient Greece and the Romans, along with a bit of Chinese history, with the Ottoman Empire thrown in for good measure, they had moved on to Greek- and Latin-derivated English words (all courtesy of the Professor's library), and even Eragon was feeling the first twinges of boredom (a rarity at that point, for him), and the Pevensie siblings were bored to tears. Peter was sitting on the couch, contemplating the most recent word in the 'game' (without much success), Edmund was fiddling with something underneath a battered armchair, (most likely attempting to remove screws to annoy his siblings with later), and Lucy was sitting on the windowseat, staring out into the darkness as water trickled down the panes, staving off a childish desire to implore her siblings and friend to play hide &seek, as he saw in her mind (A practice he now abhorred, but continued using, as he understood how vital it was).  
"Come on, Caspar, gastrovascular." The 'game' making her irritated, and therefore impatient for an answer, so they could move on.  
"Is it Latin?" Peter butted in questioningly, as guessing which language the word was derived from was about as far as he could get.  
"Yes." Susan replied sullenly, still waiting for the _actual_ answer. Eragon silently thanked any deity that was listening, and quickly placed small packages of thought in Edmund and Lucy's minds. Edmund's quickly latched on to the foreign impulse, and he sat up and leant against the chair.  
"Is it Latin for…'Worst game ever invented'?" Edmund smirked, to which Susan huffed irritably and closed the dictionary with a loud THUNK.  
"It is an adjective to describe a part of the body involved in both digestion and circulation, and as much as I hate to do this, I have to agree with Ed." Eragon acquiesced. "We are all bored out of our minds at the moment." It was at that point that the package of thoughts in Lucy's head, which had been busy chipping away at her inhibitions about asking the others to play hide & seek with her broke through, and Lucy suddenly rose up, bounded over to Peter, and all but _leapt_ into his lap, whilst quietly suggesting, "We… we could play hide & seek." Peter averted his gaze from Lucy, and deadpanned "But we're already having _so_ much _fun_."  
"Leave the sarcasm and dry wit to the masters, Peter." Eragon deadpanned back, who received a raised eyebrow at this, but no more, as Peter's mind decided that between his snarky friend getting a well-aimed insult, and the little bundle of energy lying in his lap, currently begging at him to start counting, the latter deserved more of his attention. Eragon had, by that point, seen so many things that nothing really surprised him anymore, but he set himself a mental reminder to thank the Emperor-Beyond-The-Sea for giving Lucy those adorably cute puppy-dog eyes, the next time they got to meet, for Peter briefly hung his head in defeat, looked directly at Lucy, smiled, and started counting.  
"One…two…three…four…"  
"What?!" Edmund exclaimed, no doubt indignant about having to play a 'kid's' game, Susan rolled her eyes and smiled, Lucy cracked a face-wide grin, and Eragon merely chuckled at their reactions, already striding over to the door that would give him the roundabout way to the wardrobe, whilst carefully making it look like he had just decided to try this door for the sake of it, by slowly 'considering' each one in turn. He followed the familiar stairwell, noting that Lucy had chosen the door that would inevitably take her to the wardrobe in a smaller time, but by the sound of her footsteps, he could tell that they would arrive at the door in roughly the same amount of time.

"25…26…27…28…"  
Peter's voice echoed in the corridors, as Lucy ran up and down the stairs in the entry hall, and into the other side of the house. She ran down a corridor, took a left, then a right, and spotted a pair of floor-length curtains, and immediately sprinted towards them, but shoved out of the way by Edmund, who had run up behind her, and sequestered himself in the alcove, and simply shouted, "I was here _first!"_ Lucy huffed, annoyed at her brother for stealing her spot, and continued running down the corridor, reaching for the handle of the door immediately in front of her, but jumped when she heard Eragon's voice issue from her right, his head poking out of a second doorway. "That one's locked, Lu, but come in here and take a look at this!" he exclaimed in excitement, making it seem like he had found the perfect hiding place. She grinned and followed Eragon through the door, who swiftly closed it behind her, before turning around to see the expression on her face.  
"Caspar, that could fit all five of us, it's so big!" she blurted out, eyes bugging out, her attention firmly fixed on the massive wardrobe occupying the back wall of the room.  
' _And a few million others with room to spare, eh Aslan?'_ he chuckled, before taking Lucy by the hand and leading her into the wardrobe. He pushed through the winter coats, still holding Lucy's hand in a vice-like grip, before stopping when he reached the pine blanketed in snow, and waiting for Lucy to catch up, before opening his mouth to speak, making sure to inject some surprise into his tone.  
"Lu, are you seeing what I'm seeing? 'Cause if so, we're going to need something a bit stronger than a pinch." Lucy's eyes, if it was possible, bugged out even further, and she went slack-jawed, as Eragon brushed apart the pine boughs, revealing a forest clad in white. Eragon made sure to save a mental image of that unique sight.  
"How in the nine circles of Hell is this even possible?!" Eragon's mock-surprised voice rent the air, before swiftly looking suitably sheepish for the curse under Lucy's intense glare. Once she ceased glaring, Eragon crouched down and put his hands on Lucy's shoulders. "Lu, I want you to stay by that lamppost over there, though how there's a lamppost here is beyond me, and I'll be back in an hour." Whilst pointing at said lamppost, and striding there, holding Lucy's tiny hand in his own.  
"Now, _stay here_. You can wander, but _stay within sight of the lamppost._ " He stated, careful to enunciate every word carefully to make sure she got the message.  
"But… where are _you_ going?" Lucy inquired, hoping to persuade Eragon to take her.  
" _I'm_ going exploring," he answered, "and before you say anything else, the only reason I'm not taking you, is because if you got hurt, I'd never forgive myself, and neither would your brothers and sister, _especially_ Peter." He added pleadingly, hoping she wouldn't argue any further. Thankfully, she didn't, and promised to stay within sight of the lamppost. Satisfied by her answer, Eragon strode off into the forest, putting enough distance between him and Lucy that the forest hid him from view, before casting the spells to render him invisible to others and to stop any sound he would make. Completing the incantations, he smiled at his freedom of finally being able to use magic unrestricted, and proceeded to convert his appearance back to normal. His hair grew, whilst turning the colour of burnished starlight. His ears grew points, his nose became more aquiline, and his cheekbones rose higher on his face, and his entire body grew a few inches. Finally, he removed his shirt, shivering slightly in the cold air, and carefully cut two ovals, each 4 inches by 3½ inches, over the shoulder blades with magic, and sealed the loose ends. Finally, replacing his shirt, he began the last part of his transformation. Two bulges of flesh grew through the holes in his shirt, and became more defined, the bones becoming longer and the skin stretching between them, until two wings, each the length of his own body, sprouted from his back. Eragon lovingly stroked his wings, feeling the texture he had grown to associate with his mate all those millennia ago, before he had even _known_ about Narnia. Suddenly, flaring them, he crouched, and _jumped_ , 10 feet into the air, his strength enhanced by magic, and his wings churned the air furiously, giving him lift into the cloud-filled sky. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lucy being led away by a faun, presumably to his house. From what he knew of fauns, he was reasonably sure Lucy was safe, and continued on flying towards the east.

After flying for 30 minutes, Eragon reached Cair Paravel, and landed on the beach to the Eastern Sea, and watched as a small speck on the horizon grew, and solidified into the silhouette of a lion, walking over the water, until it placed its right front paw on the white sand, and lay down, staring directly at the space where Eragon sat  
"You never did learn that those incantations of yours never took me into account, did they?" Aslan chuckled deep in his throat.  
"Doesn't give me a reason to stop trying." Eragon swung back playfully, dropping the spells hiding him from the world. "After all, there _is_ a first time for everything." Aslan's muzzle drew back, exposing his fangs, in a smile, reminding Eragon of all the times his mate had done the exact same.  
"Reminiscing?" Aslan asked Eragon, having a fairly good idea of what Eragon was thinking of. Suddenly, and without warning, Eragon threw himself forward, burying his face in Aslan's mane, his arms encircling Aslan's neck, liquid crystal running down his cheeks. Aslan stiffened for an instant, before relaxing, and pushing his neck into Eragon's face, allowing Eragon his sadness. After all, this wasn't the first he had seen his brother like this, and the best thing for him to do was just let Eragon cry his sadness away. After remaining thus for a full minute, Eragon released his death grip on Aslan's mane, and extricated himself, before wiping his face, ridding himself of the shining lines, before facing Aslan and choking out "I… It's been so long since I've seen you, it must've been just before the Age of Winter began. I watched the years pass, waiting from our father for anything… _anything_ to tell me that hope was coming back." He locked gazes with Aslan, a faint smile on his face. "And now, all four of them turn up at once, and one of them just _has_ to be more annoying than you." Eragon joked, giving Aslan a playful swat on the nose.  
Aslan smiled, his tail _swishing_ slowly back and forth. "Shouldn't that be the other way round?"  
"Touché." Eragon's lips split in a full-on grin, his previous sadness all but forgotten. "How is our father, by the way? He has an annoying habit of not answering my mental letters." Aslan threw back his head and _laughed_ : a deep, booming sound that reverberated and bounced throughout all of Narnia, announcing the arrival of its true king.  
"You're _**still**_ doing that _?_! I thought after our father knocked you round the head with your own blunted sword as punishment, you've have learnt your lesson."  
"So _that's_ why my luck has been so abysmal as of recent." Eragon muttered to himself. The Emperor-Beyond-The-Sea always did like to screw his luck over. "I'd still like my question answered, you know. I don't have all day. Lucy'll be waiting for me at the lamppost by now."  
"Lucy?"Aslan growled back questioningly, genuine confusion showing on his face.  
"Daughter of Eve. I think you'll like her. She's one of the kindest and caring people you'll ever meet." Eragon chuckled at the almost… _human_ expression on Aslan's face. He knew only two people in all the worlds would ever see that sort of expression from Aslan, and he was one of them.  
"Ah." realization dawned on Aslan's face, before he continued. "Yes, our father is fine, though he did seem…" Aslan paused, searching for the right word, before continuing, " _pre_ _occupied_ , when I left."  
"Probably thinking of a suitable way to punish me the next time I visited." Eragon quipped, knowing what Aslan would say to that.  
"You do know that he can hear you at the moment?" Aslan chuckled, as was his reply every time.  
"I know, but for some _strange_ reason, I don't think he cares all that much." Eragon mused, "After all, he is the one who taught you 'family first, above all else'."  
"Really? I thought that was you?" Aslan deadpanned in response, eliciting a bout of _draconic_ laughter from Eragon, showing just how happy he truly was.  
"Well, between you and me, I think it was me, but he insists it was him." Eragon chortled back in response, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. Aslan, as noble as ever, rose smoothly to his feet, which Eragon copied, and placed a hand on Aslan's muzzle, starting the ritual that would announce the arrival of any of the Emperor-Beyond-The-Sea's kin into Narnia.  
 _"Atra esterní ono thelduin_ , Aslan" Eragon intoned, his voice emotionless.  
" _ **Mor'ranr lífa unin hjarta onr**_ , Eragon" Aslan replied, his deep bass a balm not unlike Saphira's own treble in the ancient language.  
" _Un du…_ _ **evarínya ono**_ _… varda,_ brother". The two brothers completed in perfect sync. The ritual sealed, a wave of energy rippled out from that spot on the beach, melting the snow around them. As Aslan stepped onto the beach, Eragon sighed, and spoke the line they both knew was coming.  
"It has begun." He couldn't help it. He collapsed, chest shuddering, wracked by laughter, as Aslan followed suit, legs buckling, falling on his stomach, deep, coughing growls issuing from his throat, the lion's equivalent of dragon laughter. Finally, they both rose again, the merriment most definitely out of their systems.  
"You and your human sayings, Eragon." The lion chuckled deep in his throat. "Aye, it has begun." he tone suddenly becoming solemn.  
"What will you do now?" Eragon inquired, eager to get back to Lucy, if only to make sure she was safe.  
" _I_ will rally the Narnians for the Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve. And you…" But before he could finish, Aslan's head whipped round and _roared_ in the direction of the lamppost, so fast one could describe as a reflex; like something had stung him.  
"What was _that_ for, Aslan?! You nearly deafened me!" Eragon shouted, whose hands clamped firmly over his ears. Even though he had lived with Saphira for millennia, he was still startled by such loud noises, and his heightened senses as an half-elf did not help at all.  
"My apologies, brother, but _someone_ attempted to charm a Daughter of Eve into an enchanted sleep. From what you said, I assume that was Lucy?" Aslan snarled, all attempts at humour now _definitely_ rid from his voice.  
"That faun… I'm going to teach him the _true_ meaning of sleep the next time I meet him."  
"Peace, brother. I'm sure there's an explanation." Aslan growled. "But you _should_ get back to her soon. Before the White Witch has _any_ chance to kidnap her. That's not an option."  
"If what you say is true, I need to get to her now. But it is prophesied. She's going down, one way or the other. We are getting everyone back. _Every single one_." Eragon shot back, and launched himself back into the air, heading towards the Lantern Waste.  
' _Goodbye, brother. Until we meet again._ ' Aslan's voice echoed in his mind.  
' _Goodbye,…_ _ **little one**_ _._ ' Eragon sent back over his shoulder, using the epithet he had given to Aslan all those years during the their shared time in his country, used so many years ago to describe him by Saphira. He could his brother's laughter at that in his ears for the entire flight.

Landing near the lamppost, he changed himself back to the shape the Pevensies were familiar with, and ran back to the edge of the clearing, but remained hidden in the bushes, and saw Lucy running towards him from the opposite direction, being led by the faun from earlier.  
"Can you find your way back from here?" The faun panted, obviously tired from running to get Lucy back to the lamppost from wherever they had been. Quite a distance away, given his appearance.  
"I-I think so." Lucy replied, tired as well, but with fear in her voice. ' _Fear of what?'_ Eragon thought to himself, as he watched the unlikely pair share their goodbyes, during which Lucy gave the faun her handkerchief, saying "You need it more than I do". After Lucy ran in the direction of the wardrobe, Eragon stepped into the clearing, making a bee-line for the faun, who turned, spotted him and gaped. "Are-are you…?" , the gist of his words obvious.  
"Of a sort." Eragon replied, his lips twitching in a smile, "but as to what you're thinking of, _no._ "  
"T-t-then… w-who are you?" In response, Eragon simply let his eyes flicker from forest-green to cerulean blue, and watched as the faun nearly fainted with surprise.  
"E-E- _Eragon_?" the faun stuttered, overwhelmed at being in the presence of Aslan's sibling.  
Eragon simply nodded and added one last thing: "Tell everyone that my brother has returned." And with that, he turned around swiftly and strode to the exit, following Lucy back into her world.

 **So, how was it? Good? Bad? Meh?**

 **And there's Eragon's real face! Before you start complaining, according to this fanfic, he's many millennia old. It stands to reason his hair would go silver, given he's an elf-human hybrid with an elf's immortality (from the Paolini-verse, anyway).**

 **Second: His wings. They're black. I'm sorry I didn't say it in the story. (And if you're wondering how he has them:** _ **Shame on you! I've hinted at it multiple times already!**_ **)**

 **I will say this right now: Aslan is going to be a bit more 'human' in this fanfic than he is in the books and movies. It's rather hard to create a conceivable main character with the personality Aslan gives in the movies, in terms of giving him lines to speak.**

 **And yes, I know I'm taking liberties with the Emperor-Beyond-The-Sea, but really, we're never , EVER told anything substantial about his personality, so my logic is that it's up to interpretation.**

 **Questions are welcome about anything in this fanfic, though nothing is up for changing. I've got the entire plot in my head, dammit! I don't want it changed.**

 **Please rate and review!**

 **See you next chapter!**


	4. Chapter 4: The Mask Broken

***Saphira lands***

 **Thanks Saphira! Same time next week?**

' _ **Fine by me.'**_

 **See you then!**

 ***Saphira takes off***

 **So… next chapter's here. Great!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own The Chronicles of Narnia or the Inheritance Cycle. Those rights belong to C.S. Lewis and Christopher Paolini respectively. If I did I'd be VERY rich. Have fun!**

Chapter 3

Eragon was angry.  
No, scratch that, he was _furious.  
_ Not at the fact that Edmund had managed to find his own way into Narnia, albeit because he had followed Lucy (he was actually quite pleased that he _had_ done so), but at the fact that no-one else believed Lucy at all. When Lucy had burst out of the wardrobe during their game of hide & seek, accidentally forfeiting the game (he could still see the look on Susan's face when she realised she herself had forfeited, when he had appeared immediately after she had asked Peter "Does this mean I win?") _none_ of her siblings had believed her when she had told them. Admittedly, when they had looked, they had been expecting to find something abnormal, so all they found was normal (Susan's exact words were "Lucy, the only wood in here is the back of the wardrobe."). During that entire exchange, Eragon's eyes had been permanently slitted, and he had had to utilise all his self-control to prevent any scales from appearing on his body. After the older siblings had left, Lucy had rounded on him, and demanded to know why he hadn't said anything at all, to which he had replied "I knew what they were going to find when you told them." and left it at that, leaving Lucy looking hurt and confused. It broke his heart to see her like that, and so made many attempts to cheer her up afterwards, but always diverted the conversation whenever she asked him how he had known they wouldn't find Narnia, or what he had been doing in Narnia whilst she had been with Mr Tumnus, the faun she had run off with.  
In fact, Mr Tumnus wasn't helping his anger management problem, as, when Lucy had visited him last (when Edmund had followed her), he had given her a basic education in Narnian history and legends (discounting the prophecy about the four and the White Witch), which included the few written accounts of _himself_ , described as a man who always seemed to shadow Aslan during the Age of Conquest, with black scaled wings, like a dragon, and accompanied by a majestic being (him and Saphira, he asserted). Thankfully, Lucy hadn't put two and two together, as Tumnus had been wise to lay off the fact that the man's eyes were always described as being slitted, and the most piercing shade of cerulean.  
Through the entirety of that night, he had tossed and turned, desperately keeping his draconic side in check, which wanted to do _anything_ to release the anger which had been kindled by the older siblings' actions. As such, he retreated from the elder siblings, spending most of his time with Lucy, who was a surprisingly effective counsellor for his inner turmoil, and by the time Edmund had stumbled into Narnia, he had almost been calmer than he had been for a hundred years. But then, after Edmund had returned from Narnia with Lucy, he had denied all knowledge, instead _blaming_ Lucy (oh how _badly_ he had wanted to knock him out, carry him into the woods outside the house, and let him attempt to survive for that), saying something like "I shouldn't have encouraged her, but, you know what little children are like these days. They just… don't know when to stop pretending." Eragon had had to cast _malthinae_ on _himself_ to prevent his jumping on Edmund and shouting at him until Edmund became stone deaf. Lucy ran out of the room at Edmund's words, Susan and Peter following her, the latter pushing Edmund onto his bed. Eragon had swiftly released the incantation, stalked over to Edmund's bed, pinned him before Edmund could get up, and proceeded to lecture him until the other siblings had returned about the importance of family and truthfulness, whilst looking into Edmund's mind to see what Edmund had been doing while he was in Narnia. He watched, with equal measures of glee, horror, hatred and disgust, as Edmund met the White Witch, along with _her_ , who had been travelling through the Lantern Wastes. She _definitely_ had her hooks in Edmund's mind (ever the delightful temptress), and seeing how easily Jadis had wormed her way into the deepest parts of Edmund's mind horrified him, but he knew that if Edmund learned of the Witch's true nature, and survived, he would become a determined and strong ally, (He had no intention of letting Edmund die anyway) so decided to say nothing about the encounter and let Fate run its course.

/

"Peter winds up, poised to take yet _another_ wicket!" The cricket ball flew from his hand, smacking into Edmund's side with a sound THWACK, eliciting a chuckle from Eragon's more draconic side, who had wanted to see Edmund get punishment for what he had done. Edmund's delayed reaction was to clutch the spot where the ball had struck, and yell "Ow!"  
' _Ow? Of all the possible things he could say, he used_ _ **Ow**_ _? I thought kids were meant to have some imagination.'_ Eragon sniggered mentally to himself as he sat in the crook of a large tree, sending the draconic image in his head into a fit of giggles.  
"Whoops! Wake up, dolly daydream!" Peter taunted, whilst catching the ball that Susan had thrown back at him.  
' _ **There's**_ _that imagination I was talking about!'_ Eragon laughed in his head, the dragon in his head rolling everywhere, draconic laughter ringing in Eragon's ears.  
"Why can't we play hide & seek again?" Edmund asked, feigning nonchalance, his attempt to get the rest of his siblings into Narnia obvious to Eragon. Lucy, who had been watching the exchange, huffed in annoyance and returned to reading a book that Eragon had lent her, by J. R. R Tolkien, entitled 'The Hobbit'. Eragon's own opinion was that Smaug was not a true dragon in the sense of the ones he knew. As Saphira had said, dragons were the most beautiful beings in the land; they required no ornamentation. When Eragon had first bought the book, he had immediately wanted to get into Middle-Earth and give the wyrm a piece of his mind; it was demeaning, the way the last dragon had acted. Saphira had been in exactly the same position, and she had taken it with grace and patience, never lamenting the matter.  
"I thought _you_ said it was a kid's game?" Peter shot back, oblivious to his brother's attempt to lure them.  
"Besides," Susan cut in, happy at the lovely weather and the opportunity to play outside. "We could all use the fresh air."  
"It not like there isn't air inside." Edmund replied, souring Susan's expression, who returned to the wickets she was guarding.  
"Are you ready?" Peter sent in challenge to Edmund, cleaning the ball for the next throw, who replied by slamming his bat into the ground repeatedly and yelling back "Are _you_?!" Peter bowled, sending the ball whizzing in Edmund's direction, who slogged it, sending it flying backwards into one of the windows on the top floor of the house with the sound of shattering glass, almost immediately followed by a crashing bang.  
' _Anddddddd… It's gone.',_ Eragon howled in mental laughter, sending his inner dragon into hysterics, before jumping to the ground and running towards the house, followed swiftly by the four siblings, and taking the winding staircase up to the top floor. He arrived in the room with the broken window, and took in the scene. The cricket ball had slammed right through the glass (incidentally, it shattered a coat of arms.) and collided with the suit of armour in front of the window, knocking it completely to the ground. The four Pevensies crowded round the spectacle, staring at the damage, before Peter rounded on Edmund with an irritated sigh.  
"Well done, Ed." He started, the anger and irritation in his voice unmissable.  
"You bowled it!" Edmund shot back, determined to shove the blame onto someone else.  
"Going to have to agree with Peter on this one, Ed. You _were_ the one that slogged it." Eragon smirked, seeing the expression on Edmund's face. ' _He is very much in denial.'_ Eragon commented, the dragon in his head shaking his head in amusement. Edmund made to fire back a retort to his friend, but was interrupted by the caretaker's voice echoing up the stairs.  
" _What on Earth_ is going on up there?!" From the tone alone, the five knew the voice was going to give them a thorough whacking for their misbehaviour.  
"The Macready!" Susan whipped round, fixing her fellow partners-in-crime with a look of horror.  
"Come on!" Peter shouted, breaking the others from their trance, and fleeing the crime scene. Eragon knew he was enjoying himself too much, but he couldn't help it. It was just all so _funny!_ They wound through corridors, stairways, and secret passages, often doubling back on themselves to avoid the housekeeper's footsteps, and before long, arrived at the set of doors, one locked, as usual (Eragon had often contemplated what the Professor was hiding in there), the other open, revealing the wardrobe. The five ran into the room, Peter shutting the door behind them, as the footsteps became slowly louder and Edmund ran to the wardrobe and opened the door, gesturing to the opening, whilst yelling at the others.  
"Come on!" Edmund shouted, panicking at the rapidly approaching sound of Mrs Macready's footsteps.  
"You have _got_ to be _joking_." Susan spat out, before realising how close the footsteps behind here were, and running into the wardrobe, followed shortly by the rest of the escapees.  
' _You certainly have an odd sense of humour, Dad."_ Eragon chuckled to himself, just now realising how his father could have set up this entire string of events, whilst staying behind the Pevensies, who were now shoving each other as they attempted to run deeper into the wardrobe.  
"My toe!"  
"I'm not on your toe!"  
"Move back!"  
"Will you stop shoving?"  
Suddenly, Susan and Peter reached the pine boughs after shuffling backwards, and fell onto their backs after tripping over a root. Feeling the cold melting snow running down their necks, they turned and moved the branches out of the way, uncovering the white wilderness that was Narnia.  
" _Impossible._ " Susan whispered, the wonder evident in the word.  
"Don't worry. I'm sure it's just your imagination." The two elder siblings turned to see Lucy grinning, and Eragon standing next to her, his hand in front of his mouth to stave off the laughter that was inevitably coming.  
"I-I don't suppose… saying we're sorry… would quite cover it?" Peter asked hopefully, staring plaintively at Lucy, not noticing that Eragon had his free hand behind his back, copying Lucy.  
"No, it wouldn't." Peter's expression became dejected, before he got a mouthful of snow from the snowballs Eragon and Lucy threw at him.  
"But that might!" Lucy cried out in delight, as Eragon doubled over in laughter at the eldest brother's expression changed from sadness to surprise, before Peter realised what Lucy had just initiated, and bent down to gather snow, quickly followed by Susan. The air was thick with snowballs flying left, right and centre, and the surprised, yet happy cries of the children engaged in their battle. Peter managed to get a lucky shot off on Lucy, before promptly becoming the target of a barrage by Eragon, who was managing to fire off snowballs at an inhumanly fast rate. However, he had forgotten about Susan, who had snuck up behind Eragon, and threw a well-aimed snowball at the back of his head. Eragon gasped from the cold chill in his hair, before swinging around and pelting snowballs at Susan, who ran to find cover from the unending torrent of spherical white missiles. Edmund, who had been standing off to the side, uninterested in the little game the others were playing, was hit in the shoulder by a stray snowball of Susan's, which had been aimed at Eragon's face.  
"Ow!" Edmund blurted out, as Peter spun round to face him, the implications of where they were dawning on the eldest. "Stop it!"  
"You little liar!" He shouted at Edmund, all restraint vanishing like mist in the sun.  
"You didn't believe her either!" Edmund retorted.  
"Umm… guys, I think you should see this…" Susan's voice wandered over to the brothers, surprise etched into her tone, but was ignored. If they had bothered to look, they wouldn't have believed what they were seeing.  
"Apologise to Lucy! Say you're sorry!" Peter advanced on his younger sibling, looking for all the world that he might actually _hit_ Edmund.  
"Err… Peter… You seriously might want to see this…" Susan's voice drifted across to the duo, but was lost among the emotions raging in Peter's head.  
"All right!… I'm sorry." Edmund admitted, averting his gaze to Lucy.  
"That's all right. Some children just don't know when to stop pretending." Lucy acknowledged the apology, but the joy of proving her brother a liar very much evident in her tone.  
"Oh, very funny…" Edmund muttered under his breath, sending dirty looks at his brother and sister.  
"If you're _quite_ finished with your shouting match, you are going to want to see _this_." Susan's voice finally broke through their thick ears, laced with awe, fear, and surprise. They turned towards her, and gaped. Lying where Eragon had been was a dragon, 200 feet from nose to tail, tall ivory white spines adorning his back, claws longer than longswords, fangs sharper than stiletto daggers, a wingspan slightly smaller than his length, and scales, blacker than the finest lacquer, but with a metallic hint. Slowly, the dragon's eyelid rose, the transparent third eyelid _snicking_ back, and a sapphire eye fixed its gaze upon the four humans, as a familiar voice sounded in their heads simultaneously.  
' _I know… I know._ '  
The four siblings jumped out of they skins, and Lucy looked around, but kept the dragon firmly in her sight, lest it turn hostile  
"Caspar… Where are you?"  
' _You're looking at me._ ' Indeed, Lucy was looking directly at the dragon when he said this, and she stared at him in disbelief.  
"Caspar… are you telling me that you are… are…" Susan stared at him blankly, still overwhelmed by the 'talking' dragon that was currently lounging on the ground in front of them.  
'… _The dragon?'_ Eragon supplied, growling deep in his throat in amusement. ' _Yes, I am, and I have been one for quite some time now.'_ Peter blinked, blinked again, and opened his mouth to speak, but could not find any words to say, he was so gobsmacked.  
' _Susan, please close your brother's mouth for him. I fear he cannot do so himself at the moment._ ' Eragon instructed, the coughing growl that was his laughter issuing from his throat. Susan, shaken from her reverie, reached over and gently pushed Peter's jaw up to close his mouth, which just flapped down again as soon as she removed her hand.  
' _Now, I'm going to change back, and please, do not be surprised if my appearance is different. The face you saw was merely a mask, as was the name I gave you. Also, try not to distract me when I'm changing back. It's a delicate process._ ' The Pevensies were bursting with questions at that statement, but were patient enough to hold their tongues until the massive dragon had changed back to his normal form, his hair glistening in the reflected light, and the points of his ears clearly showing.  
"Alright Caspar… or whatever your true name is. I think we've waited long enough for answers." Peter asked, the distrust evident in his voice. "First off: what is your _real_ name? And second: How can you be a dragon!" Eragon simply looked at him, giving him the ' _do you even have to ask that'_ stare and stated, "As to your first question, I go by many names. Some call me Shadeslayer, others Kingkiller. To others still, I am Flamesword, Shur'tugal, Argetlam and a member of Dûrgrimst Ingeitum, and if you wish to find my _true_ name, you will be looking until your dying day. But the name you are looking for… is Eragon. And as to your second question, I am going to say one word: _magic_." All four siblings went slack-jawed at that, the implications of his statement sinking in.  
"Then… everything your book said…" Lucy, finally working the courage to ask the question, but was unable to complete it.  
"…Is true. I believe you could call it a biography of sorts. I had that manuscript made in the 1500s, and I ordered Paolini to hand-write that book I was reading in the Professor's house. It's wrapped in dragon-hide. My _own_ dragon-hide, incidentally. " Eragon confirmed, amazed at how quickly Lucy and her siblings had worked out all the puzzle pieces.  
"But, if you're telling us the truth…then, where's your dragon?" Edmund asked, remembering the summary of the story Eragon had told them, and therefore not surprised by the revelation of Eragon's age, having glanced at the sections which had specifically called out the elve's immortality against old age, as well as the details of the Agaetí Blödhren. Eragon locked him in a piercing gaze and replied, "What did you say?". ' _That just **had** to be the one detail Edmund picked up on, didn't it_ '?  
"I said, where's your dragon? From what you told us, we've figured out you're a Dragon Rider, so where's your dragon?" Edmund repeated, picking up a detail that Eragon had purposefully left out. Eragon simply gave Edmund a strange look and said, "You ask too many questions." before turning around and walking into the woods.  
"Wait!" Peter shouted after him. "Where are you going?"  
" _I'm_ going to find my brother, and see where he has set up camp for…" He nearly said "the war", but cut himself off, and instead finished with "you. He very much wants to meet you.", before letting his wings grow out of his body, and bent his legs, wings flared, preparing to fly. Remarkably, it was Lucy who snapped out of her shock of seeing those wings first, and ran over, wrapping her tiny arms around his frame, fastening him to the ground.  
"Please…" she pleaded, "Stay with us, and take us to see him. Don't leave us." Hearing that tone in her voice… he knew that if he left now, she would never forgive him, even if an eternity passed and sun, sky and the ground faded into the darkness. He sighed, and folded his wings neatly around him, like a coat. "Fine, but if I'm going to stay with you, you four can wander around all you like."  
"But… shouldn't we go back?" Susan suggested, trying to be the voice of reason.  
' _And run back to get punished by Mrs Macready? When did you, Susan Pevensie, turn into a coward?_ ' He projected directly into her mind, which promptly shut her up.  
"We could always look around for a bit, and then come back." Edmund added, wanting to get an opportunity to visit the White Witch.  
"I think… Lucy should decide." Peter concluded, who turned to face his younger sister. Lucy gasped in delight at this before answering, "I'd like you all to meet Mr Tumnus!"  
"Well, then Mr Tumnus it is!" Peter announced, before diving through the branches covering the entrance to the wardrobe.  
"But we can't go hiking through the snow, dressed like _this._ " Susan complained, worried about catching hypothermia, or any number of other illnesses.  
"No," Peter replied, returning with five coats clutched to his chest, "but I'm the Professor wouldn't mind us using _these._ " whilst handing the coats to his family members. "Anyway, if you think about it, _logically,_ " he emphasised as he passed Susan her coat, who gave him an irritated glare, "We aren't even taking them out of the wardrobe." before promptly shoving a girl's coat in Edmund's direction, and offering Eragon another one.  
"No thanks." He replied, which resulted in a confused look from Peter, and explained further, "Dragons have an inner fire, which warms them and protects them from freezing elements like snow and frost. Because I am, in essence, a dragon, that carries over to my hybrid form, which is most of the time, anyway." He chuckled. "Besides, I don't think those coats were designed with me in mind." Peter simply shrugged, and returned the fifth coat to the wardrobe, before following Lucy, who had already begun walking to Mr. Tumnus' house, already talking about how there would be tea, toast and such delights, waiting for them when they got there.  
' _Really, Dad? Did you have to make my life immeasurably more difficult?_ ' Eragon thought to himself, before it dawned on him that this must have been his punishment for all those letters, and groaned, rubbing his eyes and massaging his temples, attempting to clear the oncoming headache.  
' _Meddlers, the whole lot of you. You're worse than my_ _ **biological**_ _father._ ' He thought jokingly, images of his father and brother appearing in his mind.

/

True to Eragon's word, the group had been wandering through the Lantern Wastes, gradually making their journey northwards, led by Lucy, towards Mr. Tumnus' house, rolling in the snow and having more fun than they had had before the war started. Things were going so well, Eragon mused, that something just had to happen sooner or later.  
And of course it did.

"…Lots and lots of lovely food, and we'll have lots…and lots… of…" Lucy had been regaling her siblings with tales of the wonderful joys and comforts they would find when they had finally spotted Mr. Tumnus' front door hanging sadly from its hinges, and began running towards the opening. Smelling the wolf-scent wafting outside from within the house, Eragon took off and landed in the doorway, blocking the doorway before Lucy or any of her siblings could enter. Expanding his mind like during his training, Eragon confirmed that there were none of the White Witch's servants hiding in the shadowy corners of Mr. Tumnus' house, before cautiously stepping inside, being careful to avoid stepping on any of the debris left on the floor from the struggle. Identifying where the wolves' scent was strongest, he strode over to the stone pillar in the middle of the room and ripped the piece of parchment, signed with a paw-mark and held on the rock by an iron dart, from its place, swiftly read it, anger blazing behind his eyes, before handing the missive silently to Peter and Susan, who proceeded to read it aloud.  
"The Faun Tumnus is hereby charged with High Treason," Susan and Peter shared a look at this, "against Her lmperial Majesty, Jadis, Queen of Narnia, for comforting her enemies and fraternizing with humans.  
Signed, Maugrim, Captain of the Secret Police.  
Long Live the Queen." Peter finished, before the parchment was ripped from his hand and burned to ashes by Eragon with a quiet _brisingr_.  
"All right," Susan, who had seen all she needed to, "Now we really should go back."  
"But what about Mr. Tumnus?" Lucy complained, shocked at her sister's indifference.  
"If he was arrested just for being with a human, I don't think there's much we can do." Susan replied, missing the point entirely.  
"You don't understand, do you?" Lucy, whom realization had just dawned on, shot back. " _I'm_ the human. She must have found out he helped me!" she exclaimed, trying to understand who would do such a thing.  
"Maybe we could call the police." Peter interjected unhelpfully, forgetting that they were in Narnia.  
"These _are_ the police." Susan shot his suggestion down immediately. Peter knelt and looked at Lucy at her eye-level "Don't worry, Lu, we'll think of something." He comforted, knowing he couldn't deliver on that promise.  
"Why?" Edmund, who had been quiet during this exchange, suddenly cut in, "I mean, he's a criminal."  
' _You have yet to learn that right and wrong are skewed for those who look at them, it seems, Edmund._ ' Eragon once again directed solely into his mind, shutting down all arguments the 10-year-old had. It _was_ rather hard to argue with a being several millennia his senior, after all, though Edmund did not know the exact amount, and was not even going to _try_ guessing. Suddenly, the five siblings heard a 'psst' float through the open door, and turned round to see a bird sitting on of the trees outside the house, before flying off.  
"Did that bird just… _psst_ … us?" Susan asked the others in the house, confused, and headed outside.  
' _I forgot to tell them that the animals in Narnia talk!_ ' Eragon laughed inside his mind, his draconic self laughing as well, following the others outside. Once outside, the Pevensies spun round at the noise of a twig cracking to their right, followed by scurrying, before a beaver appeared from behind a snow drift.  
"It-It's a beaver." Lucy stated confusedly, as Peter moved his hand out towards the beaver, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together and clicking his tongue.  
"I ain't gonna smell it, if that's what you want." The beaver called to Peter in an annoyed tone, causing Peter and Susan's eyes to widen, and Eragon and Lucy to chuckle at their responses.  
"Lucy Pevensie?" the beaver gestured towards the youngest sibling, whose face turned from amusement to surprise, and answered "Yes?" Seeing her handkerchief being held in the beaver's hand, she slowly walked over and took it from him.  
"Hey, that's the hankie I gave to Mr. Tum…" Lucy began, but was cut off by the beaver, who finished with "Tumnus. He got it to me just before they took him."  
"Is he alright?" Lucy inquired, wanting to know whether her friend was okay.  
"Given where they probably took him, it's uncertain." Eragon supplied, who had been standing further back, hidden from Beaver's view, but had now walked over to Lucy's left.  
" _Five_ humans? But the prophecy only… said…" Beaver trailed off, realising what he had mistaken for a coat actually was.  
" _Eragon_? _"_ Beaver gaped, his long front teeth clearly showing, before remembering who was standing in front of him and knelt, nearly keeling over, but was caught by Eragon.  
" _Atra esterní ono thelduin,_ Beaver." Eragon offered the traditional Elvin greeting that he had learned all those years ago.  
"Eragon… It _is_ you! Where is…" He-Beaver exclaimed in awe, but being interrupted by a voice in his mind.  
' _Do_ _ **not**_ _mention my relation with Aslan to the siblings. I would prefer to keep as many secrets about my life as possible, especially since we have a possible traitor in our midst, but do not make it look like you suspect him.'_ Eragon finished in his thoughts, supplying an image of Edmund, before answering back out loud, "How should I know where my brother is? Last he told me, he was rallying the Narnians for Aslan." Eragon lied through his teeth. Beaver noticed the deception, but did not comment. He-Beaver looked over his shoulder, and returned with, "Further in." Before scampering off into the woods. Eragon immediately followed the beaver, hearing the siblings' whispered argument about whether they should follow Beaver, before deciding to follow, because Eragon considered him trustworthy enough.

/

"Ah, blimey! Looks like the old girl has got the kettle on. Nice cup o' Rosy Lee!" He-Beaver shouted happily as his dam-house came into view, smoke rising from the chimney.  
 _'Should you really have a fire going in a house made of sticks, Beaver?_ ' Eragon thought amusedly to himself, whilst his draconic self started breathing fire everywhere to mark the point.  
"It's lovely." Lucy complimented, taking in the entire structure.  
"Ah, it's merely a trifle. Still plenty to do, ain't quite finished it yet." He-Beaver replied, chuffed at the compliment to his handiwork." It'll look the business when it is, though."  
"Beaver, last time I was here, this wasn't here, full stop. If this doesn't constitute 'finished', I don't know what will." Eragon sent in He-Beaver's general direction, and got a chuckle in response.  
"Yes, well, some of us have millennia to get everything right, and others only have a normal span of years. Guess which category _I_ fall into." He-Beaver joked, sparking Eragon's playful competitiveness with words.  
"You've got the life span of one and the ambition of the other." Eragon rebounded, enjoying the verbal sparring, before turning himself invisible as he spotted movement from the front door.  
"Beaver, is that you? I've been worried sick!" a female voice floated to them from the door as they rounded the corner, "If I find you've been out with Badger again, I..." her voice died in her throat as she beheld her visitors."Oh!… Well those aren't badgers."  
"Oh, I never thought I'd live to see this day!" the other beaver cried out joyfully, before turning to her (presumably) husband and complained, "Look at my fur. You couldn't give me ten minutes warning?" She demanded, wanting to make a good first impression on the future royalty of Narnia.  
"I'd have given a week if I thought it would've helped." He replied snarkily, (' _Definitely husband and wife_ ' Eragon laughed to himself), before continuing "Though, if you knew who else was here, you'd be asking for a year."  
"Beaver… what are you talking a…" Her voice once again dying as Eragon dropped his invisibility, wings flared, teeth sharp and draconic, eyes slitted and cerulean, and promptly fainted.  
"Too much?" Eragon asked innocently, as the conscious beaver gave him a dirty look, and Edmund broke down in giggles.  
"It seems the years haven't tempered your penchant for dramatics, Eragon." He-Beaver sighed, rolling his eyes, knowing what would happen when his wife woke up.  
"Come on, you're talking to a millennia-old dragon rider with the ability to become a dragon. It gets boring after a while." Eragon chortled, hands clutching his sides.  
" Yes, well, let's get you out of the snow, and see about getting some food." He-Beaver huffed, annoyed at Eragon's behaviour, while dragging his wife through the doorway.

/

Eragon sat on the floor of the beaver's house, opposite from the fire, occasionally manipulating the flames to practice his magic (whilst being careful _not_ to burn the house down), listening to the siblings and beavers arguing back and forth about Mr. Tumnus and what they should do to help him. They had turned to him almost immediately, but he had stopped them there, replying "I know, I know. I can turn into a 200-foot dragon, but that doesn't help. The Witch's main weapon isn't her forces or her secret police. It's her trickery and her arsenal." shutting down their main line of thought. He watched as the Beavers educated the Pevensies in the prophecy and Aslan ("You're missing a few crucial details there, Beaver.") before Eragon took up the mantle and educated them further. After much conversation, just after He-Beaver had revealed the war and the army Aslan was gathering for them, the eldest siblings announced that they wanted to return to Britain, much to the Beaver's dismay, and Lucy attempted to persuade them otherwise, to no avail, before Peter finalised their decision, before calling to Edmund, who (Eragon had known all along) was missing.  
"I'm gonna kill him." Peter stated, the anger already creeping into his voice.  
"You may not have to. Has Edmund ever been to Narnia before?" He-Beaver asked.

 **Cliffy! I'm SO evil! (** _ **insert maniacal laughter)**_

 **Again, thoughts?**

 **Good? Bad? Meh?**

 **Confrontation next chapter! Let's see how Maugrim fares!**

 **Ta-Ta!**


	5. Chapter 5: Betrayal and Gifts

***zooms in on Sky-Cycle***

 **RS: Hey guys! I am** _ **so**_ **sorry it took me so long to write this chapter! School was a real damn pain, and to top it off, I rewrote parts of this several times. But it's here now!**

 **271 views! Thank you so much everyone! And on my first fanfic as well!**

 **Special mention to Defender31415 and Pokeevee57. Thanks so much for reviewing this and giving me honest feedback!**

 **Hawkeye: There's the little bugger! Get him!  
** **RS: Whoops! I'll be going now. Enjoy the chapter!**

 ***Flies off***

Chapter 4

Eragon soared on the wind, watching Edmund trip through the frozen wasteland between the Beaver's house and the White's Witch's castle, and saw the three other Pevensies, along with He-Beaver, following the trail of footsteps through the darkening forest. Fortunately, they had Eragon up in the air, as they could hardly see where they were going, and Eragon's draconic eyes worked just as well at night as they did during the day.  
' _Peter, he's passed onto a frozen lake, you might want to stop there. You get any closer, and the White Witch is going to know_ _ **exactly**_ _where you are.'_ Came Eragon's calm voice in Peter's head, observing the youngest brother slipping and sliding on the ice as he crossed that accursed lake. ' _Oh Edmund, if only you knew what the Witch's true colours are. Then you wouldn't be quite so…_ _ **eager**_ _to meet her again.'_ Eragon chuckled darkly to himself, already imagining the look on Edmund's face when Jadis removed her kindly façade. Peter still shivered when Eragon contacted him that way. It seemed almost… intrusive. But there was no other feasible way to communicate at that moment.  
' _NO! We have to get him back! I don't care if he betrayed Mr. Tumnus to the White Witch, or us. He's still our brother!'_ Peter yelled back fiercely, almost forgetting the fact that the recipient of his message was a freaking _dragon.  
_ ' _I shan't argue that point, Peter, but the truth at the moment is that the best way to help Edmund is to yourselves first.'_ Eragon replied, his temper unruffled by Peter's outburst, and landed softly by the assorted chasers on the edge of the ice. The three humans watched in helpless horror as their brother closed the massive door to that abominable castle behind him, faint white light radiating from deep within the fortress. It was Lucy who broke the silence with a cry of 'Edmund!' hoping to catch her brother's attention, but was silenced by Eragon, who placed a firm hand in front of her mouth to stifle the scream. Peter attempted to run after his brother (' _Do people ever listen to my advice anymore?'_ Eragon groaned to himself), but was stopped by He-Beaver, who dragged him back onto solid ground, much to Peter's protests, and proceeded to shout at Peter.  
"You're playing into her hands!"  
Susan and Lucy, who shared Peter's sentiments, joined the verbal battle.  
"We can't just let him go!" Was Susan's interruption.  
Lucy provided her with an explanation in "He's our brother!"  
"Susan… Peter…Lucy. Why do you think she wants you four in one place, thinking about the prophecy?" Eragon broke up the skirmish, hammering in some logic, looking at each sibling in turn.  
"So… she can kill us?!" Susan said, shocked at the utterly offhand way that Eragon had implied their possible fate, before rounding on Peter, reinstating the battle. "This is _all_ your fault!"  
" _My_ fault?!" Peter shouted back in disbelief, failing to see how any of this was his fault.  
' _In fairness, the fault isn't totally his. You could have put up a bigger fight at the entrance, Susan.'_ Eragon projected into her mind as he watched the exchange.  
"None of this would have happened if you had listened to me!" Susan, unhindered by Eragon's comment, continued to lay in her brother.  
"Oh, so you knew this would happen." Peter shot back sarcastically, not liking the way the conversation was going.  
"I didn't know what would happen, which is why we should have left while we could!" Susan glowered at Peter, as was about to add to that retort, until she found herself on her back, along with Peter, pinned under Eragon.  
' _If I wanted you two to fight, I would have left you in the Professor's mansion, blaming each other for who knocked that cricket ball into the window!'_ Eragon snarled in their minds, letting his teeth elongate into fangs to mark his point. Deciding to let them have it, he implanted a mental image of his draconic form in the forefront of their minds, pinning them in exactly the same way, eyes blazing, and waited as their faces whitened as their overlapped their sight with the mental picture. ' _I didn't bring you here so you could do it here!'_ Peter and Susan, suitably chastised and sheepish, were pulled to their feet roughly.  
"Eragon, as much as you have a point for doing that, it doesn't help Edmund." Lucy, probably the wisest of the group, managed to make Eragon pull the same sheepish look as her two other siblings. They would have a good laugh at that later.  
"She's right. Only Aslan can help your brother now." He-Beaver, irritated by the siblings' behaviour, cut in, determined to stop another argument before it could start.  
"Then take us to him." Peter reluctantly stated, with the tone of one who had run out of options.

/

Edmund picked his way through the courtyard of the White Witch's castle, weaving his way through the grey statues of animals, and other magical creatures. Skirting round the statue of a giant, and stepped on the remains of a fire. Seeing the statue of a lion-looking creature, he picked up a stick of burnt wood, mostly charcoal, and mischievously drew a moustache and glasses onto its face. Wandering through the forest of gray stone, he spotted a spot of colour out of the corner of his eye. Turning around, he beheld a massive statue, far larger than any of the others, even the giant, of a dragon, rearing, its mouth wide open, the slitted eyes widened, almost in surprise. Instead of gray, like the others, it was a striking blue, a few shades darker than Eragon's eyes, but in the centre of its chest, there was a single scale, exactly the same shade of Eragon's wings and his dragon form.  
' _Well, that answers my question.'_ Edmund thought to himself, and turned away, and continued up the steps. At the top, he made to step over a mound of snow, before finding himself pinned under a wolf, fangs bared.

/

Eragon cursed as he waited for the Pevensies to make their way back to the dam-house. Even after returning to the Lantern wastes from the White Witch's castle and retrieving Brisingr, which he had hidden inside the lamppost with magic, and flying back to the house, he had arrived before the Pevensies and the Beavers. Oh, how good it felt to have Brisingr at this side again. After he had left Narnia, when Saphira had been captured, he'd left it here, so he'd been in the Pevensies' world for millennia, waiting for an opportunity and a reason to retrieve it. Iridescent blue swords and the Second World War didn't mix, apparently.  
' _Given Edmund's unwitting personality, he'll probably tell Jadis where we are now. That means_ _ **I**_ _have to take care of her secret police. Oh joy.'_ He thought to himself sarcastically, his mind wandering as he stood at the entrance. Spotting movement in the corner of his eye, he drew Brisingr faster than thought possible, slipping back into the familiar movements, until he noticed it was just He-Beaver and the Pevensies, and sheathed his sword. Peter simply raised his eyebrow at the new addition, and ran through the doorway. Susan, Lucy and Beaver followed him, and Eragon rounded up the group, closing and warding the front door behind him with magic.  
"Hurry, Mother! They're after us!" He-Beaver shouted at his wife, as Eragon continued lacing enchantments around the house, fortifying all the obvious entryways, which happened to be everywhere, and extended his mind, and sensed the lupine minds approaching, thoughts of bloodshed and prisoners at the forefront.  
' _I almost wish I hadn't commented on this house's state of completion when I arrived. Karma is cruel.'_ Eragon reflected, finishing the enchantments and withdrawing his mind. "He's right, Beaver. We're about to have company." Eragon confirmed, and the other beaver moved over to a corner in the house.  
"Oh, right then."  
"What's she doing?" Peter called out, huddled with Lucy and away from the windows, along with Susan.  
"Oh, you'll be thanking me later. It's a long journey and Beaver gets pretty cranky when he's hungry."She-Beaver replied, carrying supplies and a cloth over to the table.  
"I'm cranky now!"  
' _Can't you go an hour without food, Beaver? Now's not the time.'_ Eragon remarked irritably inside He-Beaver's head, before whipping around, seeing the shapes of wolves through the dirty glass with his enhanced sight, and hearing the muttered order of "Take them."  
' _Oh,_ _ **why**_ _did it have to be Maugrim.'_ Eragon thought bitterly to himself, as the wolves began tearing through the few places he had not warded against forced entry.  
"Do you think we'll need jam?" Susan asked, and Eragon was about to butt in with an appropriate answer, but Peter got there first with "Only if the Witch serves toast!"  
' _Good one Peter.'_ Eragon chuckled in Peter's mind, as they all dropped into a secret passageway hidden behind a wooden panel, Eragon going first, as he could jump down without the need for a rope because of his elven agility, making sure nobody fell down and hurt themselves. He ducked down and created a werelight, the sapphire magical light illuminating the tunnel. The Beavers ran out in front, leading them through the labyrinthine passages, Eragon close behind, able to maintain his balance while bending over and running. The three Pevensies where having less luck, tripping and stumbling on the uneven hard-packed earth.  
"Badger and me dug this." He-Beaver called back over his shoulder, scampering easily along the rough floor. "Comes out right near his place."  
"You told me it led to your Mum's!" His wife called back, shocked at the revelation.  
' _What? Surely you don't expect a man to reveal all his secrets?'_ He laughed in both their minds, which resulted in a mild bout of chuckles from both, until Lucy tripped on a root, and they stopped to catch their breath. Eragon swore explosively as he heard the echoes of pounding feet in the enclosed space.  
"They're in the tunnel."  
"All of you, get going. I'll delay them for a bit." Eragon ordered the rest of his companions, already drawing on his magic.  
"Don't get heroic on us now, Eragon! We're of no use to Narnia dead, you more so than us!" He-Beaver shouted at him, incredulous.  
"It never crossed my mind." Eragon shot back simply. "Besides, the worst that's going to happen is you're going to have to redig this tunnel. _Deloi moi!"_ Eragon released the building pressure in his chest, and the tunnel collapsed and formed a meter-thick wall of compact earth between them and the wolves.  
" _Ganga!"_ Eragon shouted, allowing threads of urgency to weave their way into his tone. At the direct order in the Ancient Language, the five others turned and _ran,_ Eragon close behind, careful to limit himself to prevent any impacts with the other fleeing beings in the tunnel. They ran and ran, Beaver directing the group, before they arrived at a dead end.  
"You should've brought a map!" She-Beaver shouted at her husband, obviously not used to the winding nature of the tunnels she was currently in.  
"There wasn't room next to the jam!" He-Beaver yelled, panic and irritation creeping into his voice, until he spotted a hole in the earth above him, and jumped up, finding purchase on the loose soil. Peter and Susan made to help Lucy up, but Eragon interrupted, setting Lucy firmly on the ground.  
"It'll be easier this way. _R_ _ei_ _sa!"_ Eragon intoned, and Lucy, Peter, Susan and She-Beaver quickly levitated up to the opening, and also found handholds, before Eragon released his incantation, and leaped up to the exit, balancing perfectly on a small ledge, before following the rest of them out through the opening. As Eragon crawled out, Peter and He-Beaver blocked the entrance with a large barrel, and they all noticed the statue of a badger on its hind paws, front paws raised as if to ward off an attack. Judging by Badger's present condition, the attack had been by the White Witch, though the Pevensies did not know this yet. He-Beaver's face crumpled at the sight, and She-Beaver placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.  
"I'm so sorry, dear."  
"He was my best mate." He-Beaver whined, the sadness evident in his voice. Eragon was visibly shaking, muscles clenched in an attempt to stave off the scales about to erupt through his skin to join the ever-present blue one on his chest. If one had looked in his mind, a roiling wall of searing, hateful anger was all one would find, all directed at one particular sorceress. Around them, they saw other animals; squirrels, boars, rabbits, and one other badger, which had chased her husband out of their den, only to be turned to stone by the White Witch's accursed wand. Peter, appalled by all of this, voiced his thoughts in horrified disbelief.  
"What happened here?"  
"This is what becomes of those who cross the Witch." A new voice shattered the silence in the clearing, and they saw a fox standing on top of the houses, staring at them. Quicker than lightning, Eragon entered the fox's mind and sped through it, checking for any allegiance to the White Witch. Finding none, he extricated himself and greeted the fox in the traditional elven manner.  
" _Atra esterní ono thelduin, frica_ _í._ _"_ Eragon offered, and the others visibly relaxed, as they knew Eragon only offered that greeting to those who were trustworthy.  
"Eragon?! When did you get back?!" the fox exclaimed, having met both brothers in quick succession, leapt down to the ground and bowed.  
Eragon's mouth quirked in a smile. "The same time my brother came back. When else? Now, if you don't mind, we have a _tiny_ problem, and we don't want to be on the receiving end when they get here."  
"You just can't stay out of trouble, can you, Eragon?" He-Fox shot back, amused by the Halfling's circumstances, but also realising the implications.  
"Not the time, Fox- _finiarel._ Do you think we can get these five up into the trees and convince our pursuers that they went north?"  
"That'll work. Just hope they don't listen to their noses more than they do you." He-Fox confirmed.  
"I'll guard them up in the trees. You see if you can convince them. I'll intervene if they start getting too rough." Eragon decided, already breaking the barrier to his magic.  
"And why do I get the dangerous job?" He-Fox remarked, although not indignantly.  
"Think about it this way: you mislead them, they never call Jadis here. I try, and they'll run back with their tails between their legs, _literally,_ and we'll have to deal with an angry witch who can outdo even me in a battle of strength." Eragon replied succinctly, his logic as infallible as ever.  
"Ever the tactician, Eragon." He-Fox sighed wearily. Dealing with both brothers, the only offspring of the Emperor-Beyond-The-Sea, adopted, in Eragon's case, was always a trial. Aslan forbid they both ended up in the same place. That could be absolutely horrible. It was downright _impossible_ to argue with both of them, if they had each other to spot the other's mistakes.  
"I try." Eragon replied with grim amusement, and shouted " _Reisa!"_ sending the humans and beavers into the branches of the surrounding trees.  
"Fox- _finiarel,_ stay in this clearing. I'll circle from the air, and intervene when they get too violent." Eragon ordered, already preparing for a quick ascent, should the wolves get any closer.  
"Define 'too', Eragon." he replied, not worried for his life, just the lives of those hiding in the leafy heights.  
"No broken bones. Speaking of which, they're close. I'll be watching, you'll be fine." Eragon promised, enclosing the bargain with a sign to mean an oath, and launched skywards, hovering on thermals as the scene unfolded below lupine police of the White Witch burst forth from the tunnel, circling and surrounding their vulpine suspect. Linking his mind to that of the Narnian protector, he listened, watched, smelt, tasted, and above all, _felt_ the encounter. He drew off the worst of the pain from the fox's wounds, determined to keep him conscious and alive. Maugrim was questioning his prisoner, whose back was clamped between another's vice-like jaws, when Eragon asserted that enough was enough, and dove, crashing into the snow with the force of a landing dragon, and unsheathed Brisingr, flaring his wings in warning, attention focused solely on Maugrim.  
"Long time, no see, Maugrim. How is the traitor these days? Still residing over Narnia as your queen's little plaything?" Eragon spat, venom clear in his sing-song tone.  
"Eragon. Returned, have you? No matter. They knew you would eventually. She was always your biggest weakness." Maugrim returned with equal venom, and the other wolves rounded on the elf-turned-dragon. There was a kill-on-sight order on his head, after all.  
"Ah, ah, ah!" Eragon waved his finger at the canine interrogator, "You forget to whom you speak. You have become too accustomed to power. A true hunter never forgets his purpose. He hunts; he hones his skills, even when he does not need them. He always has a goal in mind; food, protection, his mate, his young. Compared to me, you have lost it. You worry after none of these, and therefore you have no purpose. You are a devil's plaything, _lupus_ , and you bear the mark of one as cruel as the one you serve, but also one of naïvety. You have all of you become what you fear most: a helpless animal, more prey than predator. You are a mangy _cur_ , Maugrim, and you're going to die, by my hand or not."  
"Enough of your insults and half-truths, hybrid! You are a freak of nature, an abomination that was never meant to be! I should truly kill your dragon eternally for your words!"  
"Be careful what you say, _doulos._ Jadis or not, if you kill her, I will come and burn that abomination of a castle to the ground, and melt the ice around it, sending you all to a watery grave. It is the least you deserve for the pain and suffering you have caused to these people for a century. They _remember_ , Maugrim, and they will exact fair judgement. You are watched. You may repent, but only death and destruction will be the fruits of the path you walk, if you keep your watch of this eternal cheimon."By this point, Eragon's emotions were dancing and sparking, higher than the moon that hung in the sky. Half growls could be heard behind his words, reminding all those present who exactly they were dealing with.  
"Enough of your empty threats, half-breed. Unless you have information on the humans who passed through here, leave now, before we _suggest_ to our queen that the statue of your precious Saphira should be… _changed_." Maugrim left the threat hanging in the air, seeing Eragon's reaction, the first hints of fear floating through his evil mind.  
"I do not. And I would not tell you. But… I think _he_ knows." Eragon tilted his head towards the vulpine prisoner still hanging from the wolf's jaws, and placed subliminal messages in the wolves' heads to avert their attention from the obvious gap of logic. "Take your _information_ , and leave him be."  
"North. They went north." He-Fox lied, grateful for the dragon rider's intervention. That wound in his back could have been much worse, after all. Maugrim shot a hateful glare at Eragon, before the package of thoughts averted his attention, and he bounded off into the north, the other wolves following him, the one holding He-Fox throwing him roughly to the cold hard ground with disdain, before disappearing into the dark of the trees.  
"Fox- _finiarel!_ Are you alright?"  
"I am... fine, Eragon." He-Fox choked out, the pain excruciating, which Eragon could hear in his voice, and feel through the link.  
"You are not, Fox- _finiarel_. _Wa_ _í_ _se heill!"_ He-Fox sighed in grateful relief as the pain in his side vanished, skin and muscle knitting back together with the brother's magic. Getting shakily to his feet, he bowed and trotted over to the trees the renegades were hiding in, and waited whilst Eragon got them safely out and prepared wood for a fire, letting his strength replenish itself.  
"What was that all about, Eragon?! I know you said that we ask too many questions, but that was too much. They have Saphira? Why didn't you tell us?!" Peter sat down opposite Eragon, and launched questions at the Dragon Rider like a barrage of missiles.  
"Peter. You overstep yourself. If you truly wish to know, you must ask my brother. I fear that if I had to relate my whole tale, I would undo the fabric of reality from sheer want. I am powerful, and I must keep my emotions in check, lest I kill those who are precious to me, like you. I did so once, and I promised I would never do that, _never_ again. What you ask… it is a long and bitter story, made more so by my age, knowing that all these things have happened, yet being able to do nothing about it. Mine has been a painful, pleasant, bitter, joyous life, suffering and happiness eternally winding about my life like Lianí vines on the Menoa tree I knew so long ago. I knew peace, war, poverty and simplicity, wealth, power and political manipulation. I knew love and hate, light and dark, vengeance and redemption, good and evil. I taught and was taught, was victorious and was defeated. I killed and stood on the edge of the abyss. I stood beside the one you call the Son of Man," the three human's eyes widened in shock at this revelation "and saw the goodness and evil in man's heart. I slaughter and save, I judge. My soul is a scarred wasteland of moral war. Even _he_ could not save me, if he was still alive. So please… do not give the dragon inside me a reason to emerge. He is so blinded by rage at this, that he wants out now, and _badly._ He hates those who did this, and resents those who oppose his goal. It is a double-edged sword. I gained all the aspects of a dragon in the past, including the fiery temper and pride, which developed their own personality. I command the body, but the mind... it was an exchange I feel that sometimes it was not worth it. I am broken, Peter, and there are only two things in this reality that will heal me, and neither is free from sin." As if to prove his speech true, obsidian scutes tore through the shirt he was wearing, and formed an impenetrable suit of flexible armour around him, and his teeth sharpened in his mouth, forming fangs, whilst liquid crystal flowed down his scaled cheeks, dropping to snowy ground. Lucy walked over and wrapped her tiny arms around his chest, pushing herself into his warm scales.  
"Eragon... we are here for you. If you had told us, we would have followed you into the Witch's castle and freed her." She comforted the draconic human, speaking in low, calming tones, uncaring and heedless of Eragon's warnings.  
 _'She certainly is something. She's wiser than a dragoness, and braver than a lioness. It's a pity she must see me like this. My life has been a horrible thing. I saw my heart; saw it diseased and rotten. Hate and vengeance have influenced me. How did you do it, Eragon? How did you survive those years, fighting for your life and remaining truly untainted? Was it you, or Saphira? Was it me? I cannot fathom. How did Hrothgar's death drive you in the right direction? How did you continue to see the best in Murtagh and save him, even when he scorned you? How…? What would have happened if…_ _ **no**_ _! I promised Saphira and Aslan I wouldn't think like that ever again! Even back in Alaga_ _ë_ _sia, those doubts tormented me. If not for Saphira and my friends, I would've succumbed long ago. But now… she's gone. I need to see through my doubt. But my faith in anything shattered back in simpler times. How do I see through it?'_ Eragon wrestled with his tormenting thoughts, as slippery as eels in a jar of water. Looking down, he saw Lucy still pressing face into his torso, and something sparked in his being. To fight to protect those he loved and cherished… he had tried that. Once it had worked. Would it work now?  
' _Perhaps it is not my actions which must change, but my view of them.'  
_ And with that inconsequential thought, the floodgate burst.  
' _No… I've been luckier than most. I had Glaedr, Oromis, and Brom, teachers who understood loss and suffering, but were unturned. I had Saphira, a true friend, partner and mate truer and braver than most dragons could even hope for. I have Aslan, a truer brother than Murtagh, Father, a figure who even Vrael himself would look on in awe as a paragon, and these four, a family I am proud to call mine own. I even had… her, before she was led down into the dark. Even if she fell, darkness cannot exist without light in man, elf or dragon. They are opposites. Light creates darkness, and darkness creates light. How did Shakespeare put it? "Within the infant rind of this weak flower poison hath residence and medicine power: For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part, being tasted, stays all senses with the heart. Two such oppos_ _è_ _d kings encamp them still in man as well as herbs, grace and rude will" One is dependent on the other for survival. It seems as if your question has come full circle, Ebrithil. "Why do you fight?" I know now, but it is a different answer. I am needed, like I was once before, but I am not the figurehead. I have become one such as Brom… fighting from the shadows, and returning to the light only when peril emerges. Such seems the way of those who wielded such power.'_ Snapping out of his self-reflection, he muttered " _brisingr_ ", and the wood burst into sapphire flame, and glinted, blue on blue, in his slitted eyes, as the scales retracted into his body, except for the ever-present sapphire set above his heart, just visible through the tattered rags that had been his shirt, which now seemed to shimmer and shine in the reflected light. His eyes, once glinting and piercing with fierceness and danger, now held a firmness, unquestioningly present, promising a different type of danger, and sent shivers up the spines of all those with him. He-Fox, seeing the look in Eragon's eyes, decided it was best to leave, and complete his assigned task.  
"Thank you, Eragon, for your healing and warmth, but this is all the time I have to waste. I must be gone."  
"You're leaving?" Lucy asked disbelievingly, staring pleadingly at the fox to stay.  
"It has been a pleasure, My Queen, and an honour," Fox bowed low to the three humans, "but time is short, and Aslan himself has asked me to gather more troops."  
" You've seen Aslan?"  
"What's he like?"  
' _Patience, Beavers, is a virtue. You will see him eventually, as will the Pevensies. Allow Fate its course. It does not wander. '_ Eragon chided lightly in their minds, but there was no force behind the words.  
"Like everything we've ever heard. You'll be glad to have him by your side in the battle against the Witch." Fox replied, a slight smile exposing his back teeth.  
"But we're not planning on fighting any witch." Peter began to protest, but restrained at the horrified looks he received from their companions and the presence from Eragon, lingering menacingly across the top of his consciousness, intended to unnerve and make him think twice about his answer. Eragon was currently succeeding quite well.  
"But surely, King Peter, the prophecy!" Fox exclaimed, astonished at the boy's… indifference, almost. He-Beaver just stared helplessly, and uttered seven words, searching for anything to keep the fated kings and queens.  
"We can't go to war without you."  
"We just want our brother back." Peter answered weakly, giving up on fighting his destiny, and stated all he wanted to do.  
' _As do I, Peter, but sometimes the best path is not the obvious one. Fate has an odd sense of humour. You_ _ **will**_ _see your brother again, alive and well.'_ Eragon comforted the helpless elder brother, with the look of one facing an impossible situation.  
"Thank you… Eragon."

/

The group made good time in passing over the landscape towards Aslan's camp, once Peter had relented, agreeing with Eragon's advice, and allowed himself to be led towards his fate inside this still, seemingly _impossible_ place. They had been crossing a frozen lake, Eragon walking along with the group, lest he be spotted from the ground.

Of course, that had to be when everything had gone seemingly bad. _Seemingly,_ away.

"Come on, humans! While we're still young."  
"Specify, Beaver. Which of us do you mean? Them, or all of us?" For indeed, Eragon had run straight in front of Beaver, smirking good-naturedly, mischievousness flashing in his cerulean simply sighed, and poked a thumb back at the Pevensies, who were dragging behind by a lot. With his enhanced hearing, Eragon could hear Peter mutter, "If he tells us to hurry one more time, I'm gonna turn him into a big, fluffy hat." He laughed out loud at that.  
' _Beaver fur isn't the best for hats, Peter. Try earmuffs instead. Much better.'_ Peter sniggered at the Dragon Rider's incisive comment, forgetting the half-elf's superior senses, and then hoisted Lucy onto his shoulders, so she wouldn't slow the group down too , Eragon spotted movement behind the Pevensies, and just saw the outline of a sleigh, to which his eyes widened in horror.  
' _Peter, get here,_ _ **now!**_ _The White Witch's behind you!'  
_ Peter swung round, and spotted Eragon's source of danger, before depositing Lucy on the ice, so she could run faster, and set off across the ice, following the Beavers as Eragon brought up the rear, keeping one eye on the sleigh's progress across the icy surface, whilst making sure the rest of his group were alright. As they found themselves on solid ground, the Beavers caught sight of a ridge they could hide under, and they all huddled into the crevice, watching the figure's shadow fall on a snow drift adjacent from them. Once the shadow moved away, Beaver started sniffing cautiously at the air, attempting to identify their pursuer. He began to climb up the ridge, after warding Peter away from the task, but was caught by his wife, who did not to see her mate die for nothing.  
" _I'll_ go, Beaver. I can at least tell you if it is the White Witch, so you can flee." Eragon left the safety the overhang provided, Brisingr in hand, and left three very frightened humans and two anxious beavers in his as they thought Eragon had been captured or killed, a comforting voice spoke in their minds.  
' _Come out, come out, all of you. You're going to like who's here!'  
_ As the assorted creatures crawled their way out of the crevice, squinting in the bright sunlight, they saw Eragon's familiar outline, as he chatted amiably with the second man. For indeed, it was a man, and not a woman (much to the five's collective relief), dressed in a jacket seemingly better suited to the 1500s, with the outer layer cut into strips, letting the softer inner lining poke through. But the defining feature was the face: a sprawling beard and moustache, with sparkling blue eyes, glimmering with happiness, and a happy smile shaping his lips.  
"Merry Christmas, sir." Lucy was the first to snap out of her stupor of surprise at the stranger before her, and properly greet him, a wide childish grin plastered on her face.  
Father Christmas finished his conversation with Eragon and turned to the speaker. "It certainly is, Lucy, since you've arrived." Susan just sighed in exasperation and turned tiredly to Peter, the words "Look, I've put up with a lot since we got here…" already issuing from her lips.  
' _Susan, will you ever learn where you are? This is Narnia, not Earth. Logic got thrown out of the window when you stepped through that wardrobe.'_ Eragon sniggered in her mind, her annoyance ever a source of amusement for the Dragon Rider, as Peter interrupted her tirade with an apology aimed for the amused man in front of them, who had also heard Eragon's snarky rebuke.  
"We thought you were the Witch."  
"Yes, yes, I'm sorry about that, but in my defence," not at all offended by the younger's man's apology "I have been driving one of these" he patted the sleigh affectionately, "longer than the Witch." With his reply, he glanced in Eragon's direction, and the elf's expression shifted to one of sheepishness. The Pevensies would later realise what had happened was a mental reprimanding between the two ancient beings, and have a very good laugh at their companion's face.  
"I thought there was no Christmas in Narnia." Susan said timidly, almost waiting for a rebuttal from Eragon.  
"No. For a long time. But the hope that you have brought, Your Majesties, is finally starting to weaken the Witch's power." Christmas replied sincerely, removing his leather gloves and placing them on the seat of his sleigh. "But… I dare say you could do with these." Father Christmas turned round and hefted a large bag, containing many things. Peter, Susan and Lucy glimpsed toys, teddy bears and other such gifts.  
"Presents!"  
' _A perfect summation, Lucy. Though I think, in this case, some people'_ Eragon tilted an eyebrow at Susan and Peter ' _are just as excited as you are. Go ahead.'_ Lucy rushed forward, peering into the large satchel, and was shocked to find Christmas pulling out a belt with a dagger and a strange glass bottle with red liquid inside.  
"The juice of the Fire-flower. One drop will heal any injury. I believe it even surpasses Eragon's capabilities at healing. " Christmas offered the bottle first to Lucy, who gently accepted the gift, marvelling at the miraculous tonic she held, both for its beauty and the properties it held.  
"Eragon… is what he says true? Can this heal people better than you?"  
"I believe it can. I have seen it used before. It healed wounds in one drop before that I would have passed out from mending, even with my reserves now." Lucy simply gawked at Eragon, and returned her gaze to the chalice, before her attention was once again drawn by Christmas.  
"And though I hope you never have to use it…" He presented the dagger and belt, the golden head of a lion clearly set as the pommel.  
' _Come on, Aslan. I know you're a symbol of hope, but that's taking it a bit too far.'_ Eragon laughed internally at his brother, before amending his criticism, thinking it better aimed at the Narnian smiths.  
"Thank you, sir, but I think I could be brave enough."  
' _Lucy, that question does not require itself to be asked. You are brave. I testify to that.'_ Eragon encouraged in the girl's mind, and she smiled gratefully back at him.  
"I'm sure you could. Battles are… ugly affairs."  
"Well said, _frica_ _í_. Only those with a ravaged soul seek enjoyment in killing. Such is the nature of evil."  
"Touché, Eragon. You yourself should be an orator."  
"I already walked that path, Nicholas- _vodhr_. I have no wish to repeat it."  
Christmas said nothing in reply, but returned to his sack, and Lucy slowly stepped back into line with her siblings. Christmas then withdrew an ivory quiver of arrows, with a bow, the string wrapped around the wood, the letters 'SP' worked in silver on the quiver itself.  
"Susan. Trust in this bow, and it will not easily miss. I believe this bow comes in the style of Eragon's homeland." Susan approached at her name being called, and Christmas handed the quiver to her.  
"Eragon?" Was all she said, but the dragon rider understood her meaning.  
"May I examine it?" he asked politely, and proceeded to run his hands gently along the wood once Susan nodded, almost as if he was searching for something.  
"Nicholas- _vodhr_ is correct. This bow was made in the style of the elves, with a few alterations." He finally responded, once he had returned the bow to Susan.  
"Like what?" Susan asked, curious as to what such alterations could be.  
"Well… for one, if this _is_ from my homeland, the wood and string would have been weakened. Elves had superhuman strength, and as such, they sung their bows out of trees with magic to achieve the draw-strength they required, so a bow would not break when they used it. But… I think there is one major change here." He explained, and Susan nodded in understanding, waiting for Eragon to continue his speech. "If I may?" Eragon gestured to the bow, and Susan got the feeling Eragon was asking for a close examination. She nodded again, and Eragon took the bow once more, and unwound the string, attaching the second end to the bow, tightening the string sufficiently. He held it with an archer's poise, looking down the sights, and felt the handle beneath his fingers. Abruptly, he unstrung the bow, wound the string with practiced ease, and gave it back.  
"Nicholas- _vodhr_. I do not know how you did it, but that is mine own bow. I remember its shape, as it remembers my hand, but it tells me it wishes for Susan to use it now. The dogwood Islanzadí sung never lied to those of pure heart. I have no objections, but I am suspicious of how such an item ended up in the Shadowlands. It was revered among the Dragon Riders. They would not part with it so easily." Susan clasped her hand over her mouth in shock, and looked at the quiver in her hand. The reality that she was holding _Eragon's_ old bow was too much to comprehend.  
"I have my ways, Eragon. But that matter is neither here nor there." Christmas replied mischievously, tapping the side of his nose in the universal symbol of 'I will keep my secrets, and I will let you have yours.' Eragon acquiesced with a slight nod, and paid no further attention as Christmas presented Susan with a magic horn for summoning friends, and only absently noted the powerful enchantments wrought into the sword Christmas presented to Peter, called Rhindon, along with a shield emblazoned with a rampant lion. Suddenly, he snapped back to reality when he realised Christmas was standing in front of him, a small smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.  
"Nicholas- _vodhr_ , I neither wish for, nor need anything. I appreciate the gifts you have endowed upon the trio, but all the tools I shall ever require have given to me, whether they reside in, or on my body." Christmas was undeterred by Eragon's gracious refusal, and withdrew an object swathed in bandages from his coat. Eragon's lips quirked minutely at the sight.  
"Really, Nicholas- _vodhr_? A sword? I do not know if you have noticed, but there is one hanging from my belt at the moment, and it is rather hard to ignore." The Pevensies also smiled at his answer, since Brisingr's colour was very hard to ignore. Christmas, however, had begun peeling off the bandages, strip by strip, and Eragon's expression changed from wry amusement to incredulous shock.  
"Nicholas- _vodhr_ … How did you…" for in Christmas' hands was a transparent sword in a transparent sheath, with a silver hilt, the handle wrapped in burnished silver wire, a shade exactly his hair, and a diamond set into the hilt.  
"Angela sends her regards." That was all Christmas said, and Eragon hung his head in amused defeat, shaking it in irony.  
"That woman… she's going to have to learn that other people's fates should not be influenced by anyone but the person they govern. But in this case…" He lifted his gaze and gingerly took the sword "I do not mind. Just tell Angela not to do it again. I get the feeling my father doesn't take kindly to people doing that." Christmas nodded in affirmation, and returned to his sled.  
"Umm… Eragon? What is that?" Eragon turned his head, attention drawn by the question. Realising it had come from Peter, he moved Albitr into their line of view.  
"This is Albitr. Like the bow you now hold, Susan, it belonged to someone from my homeland, one Angela by name. Angela had two descriptions for it, and an epithet. The latter was 'Tinkledeath', because of the sound it made when struck," Eragon demonstrated this by tapping the flat of the blade with one fingernail "and her descriptions were that the blade was 'neither metal nor stone', and that it was 'the archetype of an inclined plane'. I believe at least one of you knows what the implications of that statement are.' It was clear who he was referring, as Susan's mouth was once again hanging in shock, and the two others had confused expressions.  
"Can it… is it actually…?" Susan, due to her absolute surprise, was unable to form cohesive sentences, but Eragon knew what she wanted to and was trying to say.  
"Yes. It can cut through just about anything" Peter and Lucy followed their sister's expression, confusion turning to shock " _except_ the material it is made of, and thus it does not cut the sheath. It will also cut most things that are warded by magic. If you wish for an accurate summation of its sharpness, this blade can cut through granite and amethyst like they aren't even there, but I believe you may need a physical demonstration to prove this. Susan, please choose a material you believe Rhindon cannot cut."  
"How about… tungsten? Tungsten's supposed to be incredibly dense and hard-wearing."  
"Tungsten it is then. Nicholas- _vodhr_ , a little help here?" Christmas nodded in amused affirmation, and burrowed into his sack, withdrawing a fist-sized ball of greyish metal, and threw it to Eragon, who caught it with ease and fluidity, despite the metal's density and therefore considerable weight for its size.  
"Peter, please lay Rhindon's edge on the ball, but do not apply any pressure. Do _not_ swing Rhindon. Merely lay it edge up." Peter obliged, and fitted Rhindon's edge to the sphere, balancing the sword on that chunk of metal, where it stayed, with no effect; the tungsten and Rhindon was unharmed.  
"As you can see, Rhindon cannot cut through tungsten. Even Brisingr would not cut it, if you applied it in exactly the same way," Whilst speaking, Eragon let the ball drop to the ground with a dull _thud_ , creating a sizeable depression in the hard earth, "but Albitr is different." He drew Tinkledeath, and repeated the motions, applying absolutely no pressure, and the clear blade fell through the metal with no resistance, as if it was not even there, and two perfect hemispheres fell apart along the cut. The reaction was nothing short of hilarious. If the three humans had been shocked before, now they were nothing short of catatonic. Eragon tried and failed miserably to contain his laughter, a few amused chuckles still echoed around the snow-covered woods.  
"Now… I must be off. Winter is almost over, and things do pile up, when you've been gone a hundred years." Christmas addressed the four receivers, and pulled his gloves back on. "Long live Aslan! And Merry Christmas!" and with his farewell over, he flicked the reins once, and the reindeer galloped off through the snow, drawing the sleigh along and away from the parting shouts of those he had visited, the bells jingling all the while.  
"Merry Chistmas!"  
"Merry Christmas!"  
"Goodbye!"  
"So long!"  
"See you next year!"  
" _Mor'ranr l_ _í_ _fa unin hjarta onr_ , Nicholas- _vodhr_!"

Lucy sighed happily as the sleigh slid out of sight between the trees, and turned to her older sister, mischievousness and glee dancing in her eyes and smile.  
"Told you he was real."  
Eragon guffawed at that, once he had finished tightening the bindings of Albitr's sheath to his right thigh. Susan shot him a reproachful glare for his amusement, and he laughed all the harder. His humour, however, was interrupted by Peter's musings on Christmas' parting words.  
"He said… winter was almost over. You know what that means" turning to face his companions with a look of dawning horror "No more ice."

 ***Uncloaks***

 **RS: Whew. That was close. Damn Iron Man and that suit. That hunk of metal hits** _ **hard**_ **.**

 **Alright, alright, straight into the explanations. Firstly, for those movie-only Narnian fans out there (and I am ashamed to admit this includes me, to a lesser extent) Rhindon is the name of Peter's sword. Walden Media let that little detail slip under the radar. And yes, I did promise you confrontation, but I never specified what kind(expect more of this type of ambiguousness from me in future. I am very adept at it), and with it I brought a few more interesting titbits! I can guess which one you are all thinking of right now.**

 **For all of you out there who do not understand Ancient Greek, 'doulos' means 'slave' and 'cheimon' means 'winter'. And I am not even going to insult your intelligence by asking which play that Shakespeare quote was from.**

 **That draconic 'personality' I mentioned in Eragon's monologue? Yeah, he's coming back next chapter, with a vengeance! Who's up for some borderline schizophrenia?**

 **(Looks around)**

 **Wrong choice of words? Fine. Who wants some more internal conflict?**

 **(Repeat motion)**

 **Wow. You people…**

 **Anyway, there will be real** _ **physical**_ **confrontation next chapter, as well as the reveal of Eragon's brother for the Pevensies (I love dramatic irony!), and (hopefully) you're going to see who the traitor is! I bet all of you know by now.**

 **Second possibility for next chapter: Eragon's backstory for this fanfic. I know you've all been dying to figure out how all the clues I've dropped fit together, but I don't know where I'll cut the next chapter at. (And if you want anyone to blame for this sort of behaviour, Scott Cawthorn is as good as any. I love the way he drops all these little references and Easter eggs in his games (I** _ **hate**_ **those animatronics, though. Ughhh!)).**

 **Thoughts on my linking of Susan's bow to Alaga** **ë** **sia and the appearance of Albitr? I feel I'm going to have to pull a** _ **deus ex machina**_ **for the battle scene now. Speaking of which, I've got the rough draft for that scene. It promises to be** _ **epic,**_ **from my point of view at least! No spoilers!**

 **Have fun!**

 **Hawkeye: There he is  
** **RS: Can't you guys give me a break?  
** **Hawkeye: Not until you give me my bike!  
** **RS: See you all next chapter!**


	6. Chapter 6: Regret and Forgiveness

**Hey guys! Sorry this chapter took so long. I had somewhat of a mind blank halfway through. In reference to the possibilities from last chapter, we're not getting Eragon's full back-story, but I've included somewhat of a flashback (it flows with the story, so please, no haters!), that reveals the traitor!  
Second warning: prepare for a very long monologue by that 'draconic personality' I mentioned. And when I say long, I mean **_**long.**_ **Like 2.5k words.  
Disclaimer: I don't own Chronicles of Narnia, yada, yada, yada C. S. Lewis and Christopher Paolini. These things are getting repetitive.  
**

Chapter 5

Three humans tore through the landscape, two beavers scampering in front, as an unseen speck soared low in the sky, just over the tree line, keeping one reptilian eye on the fleeing group. As the trio approached the river from a higher place, the Pevensies and Mr. Beaver exchanged a few unheard words (at least to Eragon's ears, which could only hear the rushing of the wind as he flew and soared above, guarding against any pursuers), before they carefully made their way down a protruding ledge, slick with powdery snow and thin ice, as the howls of the White Witch's police could be heard behind them, much to Eragon's anger. The three humans safely deposited themselves on the snowy bank, and looked on in abject fear at the seemingly insurmountable obstacle before them, which was in the throes of freeing itself from the chafing icy manacles it had been forced to wear for a century. Eragon touched down gracefully on the opposite shore, not folding his wings in case he needed to intervene quickly, and watched as Peter took a step forward and nearly fell into the freezing rushing water below.  
"Wait. Maybe I should go first." He-Beaver cautioned the human, knowing he stood a better chance of survival if he fell into the flowing ice.  
"Maybe you should." Peter, upon close inspection of his actions, sheepishly acquiesced, and He-Beaver proceeded to carefully place his weight on the uncertain plates, occasionally slapping his tail to clear the thin covering of powdery snow to reveal any possible cracks or weaker points in the floating ice. Eragon vaguely heard sarcastic remarks pass between the two Beavers, She-Beaver saying something like 'sneaking second helpings'. The Dragon Rider sniggered at that, even as he carefully observed the top of the waterfall or where the Pevensies had come down to get level with the river. Peter then began leading his sisters gingerly over the cracking floor, always placing one foot on the next plate to test his weight, before cautiously taking another step. They were about a quarter of the way across, before both Eragon's and Lucy's vision snapped up to the top of the waterfall, the former from movement caught out of the corner of his eye, and the latter from the icicles shook loose by the pounding steps of the Secret Police. The escapees on the ice abandoned all attempts at caution, and began running across the ice, desperately attempting to reach the other bank and safety from the freezing water. Eragon launched himself at lightning speed towards the opposing bank, blocking all but two, and withdrew Brisingr, attention focused on all and none. He danced a dance of violence and death through his lupine opponents, raining down icy stabs and freezing slashes from Brisingr's cold blue steel, piercing canine hearts and severing canine necks. Even as he danced through the assembled pack, part of him rejoicing in the death of his enemies and the progression towards his goal, along with Brisingr, which shimmered and flashed in savage delight at its first true use in a century, as blood speckled its sapphire length like only more precious stones decorating the sword. But as he ran and cut through the ranks, a part of him, deep down, felt…guilty. Even if these wolves, Jadis' own Secret Police, loyal to her without fault, had thrown their lot in with Jadis, completely and absolutely, just like _her_ , the argument he had given himself still applied to them. Even if they were consumed and corrupted by darkness, and fully believed in Jadis' cause, every single one of them still had an infinitesimally small shred of goodness in their beings. But here he was, killing them as easily as lambs at the slaughter house.  
' _You said it yourself, once, Eragon. These creatures are evil; torn and malformed, curs, the lot of them. It would be better to put them out of their misery than let them continue to live in pain and suffering.'  
'But by your own admission, you just implied that they are, at heart, good, but cannot control their actions, like __**her**_ _. If that were true, then I am killing those who, by all rights, I should be saving. I cannot do that in good conscience, skulblaka. We discussed this before a long time ago, and I stand by what I said. I may be both dragon and elf, two races unravaged by time's march, but at heart, I am human, as I was born. Humans change their views and opinions to survive. They adapt. I will_ _ **not**_ _argue this, skulblaka.'  
'Pah! You talk of all this, yet every time you receive the chance, you kill and destroy! You expound what your beliefs are, but the moment action is needed, you break all of your verbal promises. You are steered by hate and vengeance. We dragons may be bloodthirsty, but we know when to stop. __**You**_ _do not.'_ Eragon was so shocked by the indweller's vehemence that he nearly lost his footing on the thin, packed snow as he flashed between his opponents. ' _And let's not forget that you have_ _ **never,**_ _in all the millennia we have shared the same body, called me by the name I was given. Each and every time, '_ _ **skulblaka**_ _'. '_ _ **Skulblaka**_ _' this, '_ _ **skulblaka'**_ _that. That has never been mine name, in life or death.'  
'With all due respect, you've…' _Eragon tried to placate the stormy presence, but his attempts only angered the dragon further.  
''With _all due respect'?! Shade's blood! Give me one good reason why I shouldn't wrest control,_ _ **right now**_ , _and bring a dragon's wrath upon this land! You obviously do not care how long Saphira remains frozen in stone!'_ Eragon, who had been prepared to avoid confrontation, broke his temperament with the dragon's derogatory insult.  
 _'_ _ **Theyna!**_ _You overstep your boundaries,_ _ **skulblaka**_ _! Undermine my confidence, attack my methods, be the whispering temptation in the dark of my mind, insult me all you want! But_ _ **never**_ _question my resolve! You and I share the same body, mind and soul. You know_ _ **exactly**_ _how I acted and felt a century ago. Tell me in the ancient language what emotions were running through my being at that instant.'  
'Hate, fear, anger, a desire to kill the perpetrators, and crushing sadness and grief… but above all, a sense of determination to retrieve and rescue her from her imprisonment. I acknowledge that, Eragon. But, as you yourself said, your views change with time. How do I know you feel such now?'  
'We share the same body, mind and soul, __**einn svartr**_ _, and yet you ask that question? How blind can you be? Perhaps I am not one who takes the easy road, but I uphold my promises. I swore upon my heritage as the resurgent of the Dragon Riders and Saphira's mate that I would rescue her from her stony incarceration.'  
_ Suddenly, the dragon inside him changed tack, as sudden as the wind in a sail.  
' _Hpmh. That's a start. At least you're being descriptive. Your reply however, one out of three. What makes you think we share the same soul? This round goes to you, Eragon, but the matter is far from over. I expect us to settle this before day is gone. But before I leave you to your_ _ **duty**_ _, I ask you this: You tell me that circumstances have changed, even as time has flowed as it is wont to do. Have they, though? In Alaga_ _ë_ _sia, you fought Galbatorix, an evil immortal tyrant, a usurper of peace and justice, with control over gramarye itself._ _ **You**_ _were unique; the last truly free Dragon Rider. Here, a tyrannical usurper who destroyed the Tree of Protection and ate greedily from the Tree of Life itself: an unworthy immortal. She's even more powerful than that_ _ **drajl**_ _. She placed this entire land under a century-long winter, for Goodness' sake! Even the lengths of time are the same: It was a hundred years between Vrael's death and your bonding to Saphira,_ _ **exactly**_ _. Here, Jadis overthrew the last human monarch_ _ **exactly**_ _a hundred years ago; when she uprooted the Tree of Protection, and now these four arrive in Narnia. Constants and variables, Eragon. Constants and variables.'  
_ These words rung in Eragon's ears as he ended the last of them, and whirled around to find Peter desperately keeping Maugrim at bay, Rhindon outstretched at arm's length, whilst the aforementioned wolf slowly pushed the humans towards the edge of the ice, where a gaping hole with only fierce water lay behind them. In the back, Eragon saw another wolf pinning He-Beaver.  
"What's it going to be, Son of Adam? I won't wait forever, and neither will the river."  
Searching his surroundings for anything he could save his friends from certain doom, his gaze settled on the imposing wall of ice that was the waterfall; not yet cracking and breaking, but the strain was clearly visible. Even the smallest of actions would cause a landslide effect. Reaching out with his magic, he quickly probed the impregnable barrier, searching for the one place where the strain was greatest. A chain was only as strong as its weakest link, after all. His hand, held loosely at his side, contorted into a claw as he almost visualised the fault between his fingers.  
"Peter, hold onto something! It might get dangerous!" Gathering his magic in the centre of his being, a silent cry of ' _jierda!'_ rent the silent landscape of Eragon's mind, and his hand balled as the magic cleaved the fault in two. Faster than even Eragon's eye could track, myriad spiderweb cracks raced out of that single point, and coalesced into huge splits, icy water issuing into freedom for the first time in a century. The sheet cracked, cleaved and fell, creating a tidal wave that propelled the Pevensies downriver ( Peter had cleverly thrust Rhindon into the ice he had been standing on, creating a sturdy handhold), and knocked both wolves into the rushing river. Eragon, thoroughly exhausted from the monumental task (even with reserves of energy to rival two fully grown dragons, one did not lightly attempt to break a frozen waterfall), lethargically followed Maugrim's feebly struggling form as it floated downstream, and slowly drew it onto the bank of the river with magic, before swiftly binding him and slumping down opposite him.  
"Now, Maugrim. You will be judged. You will be judged for your every deed, both good and bad. But know this; your reward will not be pleasing, but neither will it be the sweet release of death. You have not suffered enough to warrant that. No-one can deny I did not try to warn you of the consequences."  
' _This day I judge my last.'_ Those words echoing in the deepest parts of his soul, he dove deep into the lupine mind, burrowing through mental barriers with a diamond-hard drill and scavenging every last scrap of emotion, thought, memory, _everything._ Every second of every hour of every day of every year, he sorted through the sour and bitter history of this creature. By the end of his examination, his entire body was shaking with not only constrained rage, but violent magic; Like all of its race, the dragon inside him could tap into almost infinite amounts of energy for exceedingly powerful, and seemingly impossible and miraculous, acts of magic. Such energy that even Eragon, who had explored all the niches of magic's being, and had mastered the art of moulding, shaping, releasing and containing it, could not hold onto it for any longer than a few seconds before it flowed through his fingers like molten silver. However, in his emotions, he unconsciously changed one facet of the magic with only three words.

' _Verda du und!'_ Become the void.

The original magic, the Dragon's magic, morphed and took these words into account, broadening its meaning. While the original intent was of something undirected and harmful, the result was even worse, an act which only occurred once more in all recorded history. _Du namar aurboda._ The banishing of the names. Eragon felt the icy torrent flow through his body, specks of taint from his changes easily recognizable, easily rivalling and surpassing the veritable flood that he had been the conduit for in his final confrontation with Galbatorix, A flood so powerful and overwhelming that Maugrim's entire body simply shut down to survive the onslaught of pure magic. As soon as this frozen fire ceased, Eragon saw nothing but another wolf, part of Jadis' secret police, just another dumb beast. He was aware that the beast had had a name just a few seconds ago, but it no longer made sense in his mind when he said it; it just felt like a string of meaningless letters, like the words a child comes up with before they understand their tongue's restrictions. Breaking the arcane fetters that held the now-unconscious wolf, he hoisted himself up, using nearby trees to support his weight as he limped slowly along the snowy bank, waiting for any colour or movement to tell him where the Pevensies were. Thankfully, his keen eyes found the three humans waving on the other side to come over.  
' _I can't get over the river. I used too much energy breaking that waterfall, Peter. Ask He-Beaver to guide you the rest of the way. Continue until you reach Aslan's camp. Tell him his brother is at the frozen river. Though, really, it's not frozen anymore.'_ Eragon chuckled in their minds, not having enough energy to even shout. _'I will answer any questions you have when I have regained my strength and arrived at the camp.'_ Eragon could see every single one of the Pevensies' jaws drop with his urging, and laughed happily. It felt so… serene here, for once. He was safe from wolves, safe from predators, _everything,_ so similar to Alagaësia's vast forests. In this case though, the entire world was magical.  
' _G_ _á_ _nga, Peter. Eka eddyr vardo. No animal in this realm dares kill me. My brother will say the same. Just go. Eka weohnata l_ _í_ _fa. But before you go any further, I give you this as a parting gift. Atra gülai un ilian tauthr ono un atra ono waíse sköliro frá rauthr.'_ Each of the siblings felt a strange energy upon them, as if another being had suddenly found shelter in their shadows, and cast its own shadow on them, but a shadow of light. They knew not the meaning of the blessing Eragon had bestowed upon them, but they knew it to be true; such a thing was indeed a parting gift.  
' _Ae wa_ _í_ _se ilia, ono thirr. Unin dag bjartst, unin myrk_ _í_ _svartrst, verrunsmal wiol onr brod_ _í_ _rar un systya._ _Á_ _star alleinn nen ono_ _á_ _star theirr hverr eru breoal. Eka weohnata kausta in hridd. Just go now, all of you, and do not fret.'_ And as that speech finished, Eragon's head slumped down onto his chest, a happy smile on his face as he welcomed the release of reality like an old friend.

/

"Took you long enough."  
Eragon's peaceful release ended as abruptly as it began, as bright light scattered the wandering phantasms of his waking dreams, and were replaced by infinite blue, stretching out to the horizon and beyond. It was a contradictory place that Eragon did not frequent often; the one piece of his own mind that was not truly his own. And before him, stretched out like a basking cat, was the dragon of his mind, fixing him with that unblinking cerulean stare.  
"'Took you long enough'? You had to wait the amazing sum total of five grand minutes, and here I was thinking dragons had more patience than elves."  
"But is your patience, as you call it, truly patience, or rather a desire to procrastinate the inevitable?" Probably the most prominent reason why Eragon shied away from this part of his mind was the fact that the dragon could _talk_. Not in the way that physical dragons communicated in his homeland, through mental communication, but actually _speaking_ , using its throat and mouth. Even to this day, that sight unnerved him, seeing the fanged jaw move in time with its words.  
"Is it indeed? We shall never know. Our shared mind is too clouded to pierce, though I see someone is eager to get this over with." He replied cheekily, maintaining a straight face as he leant against an invisible wall in this space. Another thing that unnerved him here; while at first glance the blue seemed never-ending, one found it was four hundred feet cubed, with perfectly smooth walls, like oil.  
"Watch where you step, Eragon. I may have conceded on the last argument, but I will not hold back now. But before we start, I want to get this straight, right _now_. _Hva_ _ë_ _t eru iet nam?"  
_ "You ask _me,_ and you know full well you have never hinted of any name? I question the worthiness of that question." Eragon shot back, a dubious look on his face.  
"If you were as observant as you _should_ be, you would know what it is. But deep down, you don't care, _do you_? You think of me as nothing more than a gift from your father, a manifestation of your draconic personality due to your love and connection to Saphira. But _never_ , have you ever bothered to dig deeper, to find out my story." The dragon snarled, clawing the invisible floor. Those words struck deep in Eragon's core; he refuted them with every fibre of his being, but he knew that the dragon spoke the truth. He _had_ been negligent. He had assumed that, as the dragon had said, the being was a manifestation of Eragon's own faculties, nothing more. But if he had cared more, he _would_ have searched.  
"I see my words ring true. Answer my question. _Hva_ _ë_ _t eru iet nam?_ I await your response."  
For what seemed an eternity, Eragon wracked his mind for a name; names related to his own name, names given to powerful black dragons over the centuries in Alagaësia. Out of those two categories, he found different answers. To the first, his answer was that of Bid'daum, the first Eragon's bonded dragon, who founded the Dragon Riders. To the second, the only name that seared and blazed importance was Shruikan's, Galbatorix's ill-fettered second dragon.  
" _Eka kenna né_ _i_ _at._ But if I were to guess, they would be the names of Shruikan and Bid'daum, for they are the only ones which hold any significance to me."  
Upon Eragon's admission, the dragon's muzzle drew back in a triumphant smile, but quickly morphed to shock upon his naming of the first Eragon's dragon.  
"Perhaps you see more than I give you credit for, albeit unconsciously. Your second guess is half-right. Bid'daum was my clutch mate. For want of a better term, we were brothers. Long before _du fyrn skulblaka_ started or the first Eragon was born, before the elves even _arrived_ in Alagaësia, several centuries it was, we were laid in the hold of a powerful and devastating whirlwind. Perhaps it was the untamed power in the storm, or some act of the gods, but forever after, we felt each other in much the same way that a rider feels his dragon, albeit weaker. Sadly, that same storm threw us from our dam and sire's nest and plunged us deep into the Gaena River. For many years afterwards, our eggs were moved slowly downstream, until Bid'daum's egg found itself in a deep crevice of Eldor Lake. However, mine continued to travel much farther downstream, passing what was to be Hedarth, and eventually washed up far down the bank of the unnamed joining of the Edda and the Âz Ragni. Incidentally, my egg was washed up not too far from where you first set camp after you disembarked from the Talíta. There I hatched, scared and alone, a hatchling separated from his kith and kin. As such, I grew up a distraught and distrusting dragon, relying on nothing but my ancestral memories and my slowly gathered experience. I survived as such for 180 years, braving and surviving scorching sun, lashing rain, biting wind and freezing snow, until I felt a primal surge of dragon magic emanating from the west, and with it, a tug, deep within my chest, calling me to find my brother. For days and nights, I flew, scanning the ground and skies with eyes and mind, until I finally found him, sleeping peacefully among the waking pines of Ellesméra in _Du Weldenvarden_. There I slept with him, my first connection with another of my race in the flesh; not the half-awareness of an egg. It was… strange, though. I found out later that Bid'daum's egg had only been freed from its watery prison 20 years earlier. Looking at him… I was not quite an ancient of our race then, in the way Glaedr was at the end of his life, but neither a youngling. I had _experience_ , experience and wisdom to pass onto the next of our race… I _knew_ I had to protect him. Perhaps it was simply my protective instincts, or maybe in ran deeper, emanating from our bond… call it an elder's obligation, if you will. When we awoke, he thought I was one of the eldest of our race, one of those who had masterminded the treaty. Oh, how surprised he was when he looked in my mind! If he wasn't already white, I swear he would've been after he realised. We exchanged our stories for the next day and night, recounting our lives up to that point (unbeknownst to me, because of my connection to him, I had gained the use of language faster than almost every other member of my race bar my brother). I was in equal parts glad and murderous when he described _du fyrn skulblaka_ ; glad that we had both been sheltered from that cull, I through isolation, and him through the first Eragon, and murderous that the elves could have taken such a demeaning view of us. After we had finished, I _finally_ noticed that an elf stood a respectful distance from us. Given my distrust of the elves from Bid'daum's description of _du fyrn skulblaka_ , I was all but ready to give this _ä_ _lfa_ a piece of my mind. I nearly did as well, but Bid'daum informed that it was Eragon, the _first_ Eragon, and I was prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt for guarding my brother as a hatchling, a protection I had never experienced. You would be surprised, Eragon; you are more like him than you know. He too, was inexperienced in his own way, much like you were. He actually believed I was Bid'daum's _father_ , for a start, because of our size difference! After we sorted that out, though, I found to be somewhat brave and clever, under the brashness of youth (remember, this was only a few days after the spells had been completed, and their lifespans were still like yours at that point, and he was but 30 summers old). In a way, he reminded me of myself; a brother and father figure to Bid'daum, who possessed some experience and knowledge, but was not yet truly an adult of his race. He had been an outcast of sorts, like me; for saying such things as the war was useless, he had been unofficially exiled, shunned by his own people. We had common ground; both of us wanted the best for our race, but sought company with others, I (later) with the dwarves and elves, and him (also later) with the dragons. We both wanted to protect Bid'daum from those who would wish to harm him. As the night again waned, I saw him for what he was; a mirror image of me, my mind given elven form. Soon after, I left _Du Weldenvarden,_ and watched from the shadows as Eragon and Bid'daum founded and built up the Dragon Riders. Occasionally I would visit Alagaësia, meeting with the dwarves and elves, but I stayed away from my kin. I did not feel like I could connect well with any of them, besides Bid'daum. However, many of the years I spent in the surrounding lands, exploring and recording the landscape upon the tablet of my mind. It was I who found Vroengard upon my travels, giving Anurin the opportunity to later make the Dragon Riders impartial. It was I who forewarned the dwarves of the arrival of humans from the south. For the next millennia, I explored, expanded, recorded, giving Eragon and Bid'daum my findings and tales. Near the end of my life, I recorded a map of everywhere I had witnessed upon a stone monolith north of _du Weldenvarden,_ in the freezing wilderness beyond; a gigantic tree in the South beyond the Beors, its circumference far bigger than my length at that time; upon a barren island far beyond Vroengard, and the one you are familiar with, a cave in the east, far beyond the plains, where you cemented your bond with Saphira. For millennia I travelled as such; I was a close friend of Gilderien the Wise; Queen Tarmunora was something of an accomplice; Rhunon was a great source of help, gifting me with items to aid my survival in all situations. I watched each and every race; the Razac, the Urgals, the Elves, the Dwarves and eventually the Humans. The first I hunted, almost unto extinction, and the Riders nearly finished my handiwork; the second I at times hunted, and at others I gave advice to the youngest of their race, during their coming-of-age hunt; the third, as I have said, were close friends, as were the fourth, to a lesser extent (Although I was willing to put aside our differences, many dwarves maintained the view of dragons as plundering beasts, from those many millennia before); and the fifth I guarded fiercely from harm, saving any I could, if their hearts were good. As a race, they were like me: scared and alone in a new land, separated from their kind, and relying on experience and advice to survive. Alas, it did not last. One millennia after the pact was created, the very last elf who harboured thoughts of resentment towards the dragons, from the house that had been responsible for the first creation of the _Dauthdeartar_ , disguised himself as an missionary from Queen Tarmunora to Eragon, and slipped into Ilirea, breaking the warding enchantments around Eragon's sleeping quarters with a special knife; a knife layered and created in the same style as those abominable weapons. There, Bid'daum slept, while Eragon attended to late-night counsel from the other leaders of _du shur'tugalar_. Quickly and quietly, he slipped the curséd blade (the elf called it _efthainand_ _í_ : avenger; I think he believed that he was drawing recompense for all the lives lost during _du fyrn skulblaka_ ) between Bid'daum's ribs and pierced my brother's heart. Forever after I cursed myself for never staying in Alagaësia often, as I was exploring the depths of _Du Weldenvarden_ when the slime ended my brother's life, searching for my dam and sire's nesting place. How apt that when I went looking for life, death found me. I _felt_ that blade, Eragon, as surely as if that _drajl_ had stabbed me instead. I felt that ice, that short, cold pain, and with it a ripping of my soul, as Bid'daum crossed the abyss. I was struck down; my wings would not work, neither would my body respond, as I fought the urge to quench my own life to follow my brother. As fast as my wings would carry me (I was, by that point, over a millennia old, and big enough to rival Glaedr), I flew back to Ilirea, and met with a horrible sight; Eragon, distraught and bed-ridden, refusing food and drink, plagued by guilt and doubt. As a millennia-old being yourself, you know what I mean: he was in the same state as you after Saphira was captured, only tenfold worse. I saw him, plagued. He no longer recognised me, thinking me a messenger of Death to bring him to meet his dragon. He attacked me, driving me out of Ilirea, and into the northern reaches of what would be the Broddring Empire. But as he lashed out, I saw in him the remnants of my brother's soul, and I saw him as one, who once again, was a mirror image of me, given elven form. Desperately, I raced to Ellesméra, and called forth the memory of our race, maintained by Iduna and Nëya, one new-moon evening. For two nights and days afterwards, we argued, as I begged him to allow me to become a second dragon to Eragon; to turn him from Death's gates. Such actions would have been derisive for any other wild dragon, but I placed all my importance on my family, and unlike all the others, those were not dragons, but elves, dwarves and humans. After those days, it conceded, and allowed me to do this, sending me back to Ilirea with a cryptic message. Upon arrival, my heart broke with the change of Eragon's demeanour; his body was thin and frail, and his mind held all the signs of one about to enter death and accepting it. He was hallucinating, also. He mistook me for Bid'daum, thinking I had come to guide him across the abyss into the dark beyond. Gently, almost like a child, he reached out to stroke me, like he had done with Bid'daum for all those centuries. But when he made contact, the bond reformed between the two of us, along with some… _changes._ In place of his gedwëy ígnasia, was a single white scale, exactly like the ones that had decorated Bid'daum's hide, and a searing silver handprint had emblazoned itself upon my muzzle, where he touched me. Seeing his mind in the way a dragon and rider can… I knew I had made the right choice. He indeed held remnants of my brother's soul within himself. My protective bond to Bid'daum had shifted to Eragon, and it only amplified _the bond we now shared._ Upon Eragon's awakening from unconsciousness, I explained what had happened, and I saw his mind change; before, demented from Bid'daum's death, depressed and distraught, then, still plagued with grief, but holding hope for a new life. Over the course of the next few months, Eragon regained his strength, and decided that, if he held the same title, he would only be reminded of the loss, and announced, once he was strong enough to ride me, that he was appointing Anurin as his successor, and retiring from the role as leader of the Dragon Riders. Many were incredulous; Queen Tarmunora herself pleaded with Eragon to stay, as did Gilderien. But neither could persuade him. He and I left Alagaësia in much the same way as you did, flying out to the east to explore further and realise our true purpose, but it was the one thing we did not find. But we found much more besides; at that time, the route to Alalëa had been lost, but we found it once more. We discovered the Urgal monarchy to the south, and conversed with the king. We discovered unrecorded creatures in each compass point, which even I had not found; furry, ape-like creatures in the wilderness to the north; the many animals you yourself discovered in the east; we explored the depths of the ocean, seeing many horrific and wonderful sights. There are animals down there which would put the size of a dragon to shame. To the south, a barren wasteland, then forest. In there, more humanoid creatures, swinging from vines and tree branches, as comfortable there as a dragon in the sky. We saw time and kingdoms pass; Queen Tarmunora, Anurin, Eridor, Vanilor, Queen Dellanir, Vrael, King Palancar, Thanebrand, Thedric, and Evandar ascended and passed the thrones or titles of their respective leadership, along with countless other dwarven grimstnzborithn. And in all this, Eragon's body continued to change; that one white scale multiplied, until, by the end of his life, he was covered in them, and his appearance was more of a dragon than that of an elf. Ach… the heavens themselves wept when he died. When we travelled to the south, Eragon contracted a fatal disease, incurable and slow-acting. We were negotiating with the dwarves when the signs showed themselves. He wished to return to my birthplace as quickly as possible, so that it might be his final resting place. I think he believed that he was obligated to put Bid'daum's memory to rest, where it might truly pass on. To my eternal torment, he died, not at my birthplace, but by the shores of Lake Tüdosten, on the outskirts of Luthívira, the birthplace of Oromis and Glaedr, and there I died with him, the last remaining reminder of before _du fyrn skulblaka_ , curled around him protectively, like a sire would its young, warding him even in death. As my own soul left this existence, I protected us with a ring of dragonfire, imbuing it with the last of my life force as I followed my friend and the last of my brother. That silver-black ring burned and blazed, protecting us from all for the next century, in which time royalty from everywhere came to pay their respects; Vanilor and Eridor themselves, who had scorned me for my actions of saving Eragon a millennia previously, paid homage to my body, along with countless other dragons, bonded and unbonded, as the brother of the dragon who had worked for peace during _du fyrn skulblaka_ , and as the second-bonded of the elf who had created the Dragon Riders. Hrothgar himself, as well as Kulkarvek, along with Vrael, Oromis, Evandar and Islanzadí visited our resting place, with countless other members of the five major races following their footsteps. After that century, the fire guttered out, and Vrael decreed that our bones be buried underneath Moraeta's Spire on Vroengard, as a reminder to all of history when they met in that place. That is my tale, Eragon. Judge whether or not I speak the truth. Then tell me what my name is."  
But there was nothing Eragon could say. He was catatonic. Catatonic and ashamed.  
' _I have been negligent indeed. To miss this… he speaks true. I have become what_ _ **I**_ _fear: a ruthless killer, yet I do not change myself, when I see it. I deserve not the titles I have been given. Leader of the Dragon Riders… I have fallen to the dark, as Oromis warned me not to. King of the Wild Dragons… Vanilor would denounce me as nothing but a fraud. Aslan_ _ **believed**_ _in you, all those years ago. So did_ _ **he**_ _. How can you face them now? Solve myself? How can I?'  
'There is always time. Let the path reveal itself. You will know. Repentance comes in the most unlikely of forms.' _A soft lilting voice, uplifting and encouraging, echoed quietly among the deepest chords of his soul. A voice that never judged, never condemned, never slighted. A voice of hope.  
And it clicked.  
" _For_ _í_ _ngand_ _í. Nam onr er_ _For_ _í_ _ngand_ _í."_  
The dragon nodded approvingly.  
' _It seems you are not yet past saving, second-comer. As Manin said:  
"Once you ask, but twice you will receive. You will wait uncountable time for the second to come, but he will be that which you care for so dearly, and shall re-enact all your first-comer has done in life. He will be tempted, but do not be angry; hold him dear to your heart, and save him as you have saved all those others. He shall not disappoint." The message has come true, indeed. I wonder how much more you will see, though. If that is true, death is waiting for you. But do not fret; I have no more qualms. I support you whole-heartedly. No longer do I oppose your goals. You have seen the error of your ways, and that is all that matters. You will strive towards the light now.'  
_"Well, at least you got that right. But you'd better get to Aslan now. If I know him, he's going to be worried sick by now. And no, I do not pity you when the humans get their hands on you. You've had that coming since you told them Aslan and you were related." Foríngandí huffed in mock exasperation, unable to stop a smile creeping its way onto his face at the end.  
"Hey! You could at least not talk about that! You and I are going to have a discussion about being taciturn some day if you can't!"  
The dragon chuckled in genuine amusement. Oh, how much like the first he was.  
"Like that'll ever happen, little brother. Now, shoo!" And the blue fell away.

Eragon awoke, gasping and clutching his chest. His heart was still trying to cope with the shame he had been put through. But Foríngandí's words were indeed true. Either way, Eragon saw what he had done, and was determined to correct his mistakes. Foríngandí had changed, though. Calling him 'little brother'… what was he hiding?  
That wolf was still here. The one Eragon had punished. Remorse welled in his chest at the sight of the creature's form… so frail and weak. He knew the problem; the wolf had no name. But to choose a name… what did he know of the wolf? Nothing. But he didn't need knowledge. One word was branded behind his eyes, when he saw the wolf.  
Victim. For all the things the wolf had done, he had punished him in such a way that almost anyone would condemn him, no matter what they thought of him. He deserved a name, at least. But what to name him? A name to be proud of for a wolf.  
" _Rïsa, garm. Theyna néiat wiol frëma hridd. Ono eru néiat du garm seithrs hvitr. Nam onr er Hvassranaín. Gánga eom Aslan. Forínga finna ono, un älf taka ono aí tverri kostr."_ Eragon wove his magic through the words, imbuing the name with conviction and force. It was not a spell of any kind, but he felt as if he had changed the fabric of the world. For now, whenever he glanced at the wolf, he saw Hvassranaín, not a simple dumb , Hvassranaín got to his feet, nodded feebly, and Eragon lifted him over the river with magic.  
"Thank you… Eragon." He said, and, with a gift of energy from the Dragon Rider reinvigorating his weakened legs, bounded off into the woods, following the trail the three humans had left. Eragon himself got to his feet, and shook his head in amusement. He had punished that wolf for his actions, and now he had just cancelled that punishment.  
' _Changes are afoot, I feel, and this is but the first. What fate intends is a mystery. But I will strive to change what I am.'_ He smiled mischievously. ' _Well… some of what I am.'_ and jumped up into the air, as his form blurred and transformed into Foríngandí, wings beating heavily and with new meaning, as he realised that his namesake had once sat between these very shoulders.

Hvassranaín pounded earth, following the scent-trail towards Aslan's camp. His mind was conflicted; Eragon had given him a name which befitted him more, but his personality from before his renaming still lingered in his consciousness. Should he follow that which had remade him, or return to his old ways? Shaking his furred head, he kept on running, as Eragon's massive shadow fell on him, the dragon flying high above the trees, keeping his sights firmly set on his brother's tent. Eragon had forgiven him, even after all he had done. He deserved worse than hell if he went back to his old ways.

Aslan and Peter stood on the overhang, looking out over the bustle of the assembled Narnians.  
"I, too, want my family safe."  
Upon the horizon, a small, fast-moving shape burst forth from the woods, and ran into the camp, weaving its way through the bustling figures below, scattering them in alarm, and scampered up the overhang, waiting patiently for the two figures to turn. Upon their doing this, the human of the pair drew his sword, and pointed his sword at the wolf. The lion simply chuckled.  
"Get back! Don't come any closer!"  
"Peace, Son of Adam. _Eka weohnata haina ono._ Eragon _svit-madr_ sends his regards. He will be arriving soon."  
"And how do I know what you say is true?"  
"Peter. He spoke the ancient language. If he said he will not harm you, he will _not_ harm you. It's impossible for anyone to lie in that language." Aslan chided him, pushing the point of Peter's sword towards the ground. " _Kvetha,_ _fricai._ What is your name?"  
"In this tongue, Sharpclaw. In the other, Hvassranaín."  
"An honourable name. Bear it well, Sharpclaw. Where is my brother?"  
' _Why don't you try looking at what's coming, rather than focusing your attention on what's in front of you?'_ Came the amused voice in their heads, and all three's eyes lifted to see the dark shape flying proud against the blue of the sky. The dragon landed on the large plain before Aslan's camp, and morphed and shrunk, until the familiar form revealed itself, and ran up the side of the overhang, stopping by Aslan's side, ruffling his mane affectionately. Aslan just flicked his ears in mock annoyance.  
"As flashy as ever, brother. I take it you sorted out your little dispute with Foríngandí, then? You rarely ever take full dragon form anymore."  
Eragon raised one eyebrow and shook his head, the flowing silver hair floating and dancing.  
"You couldn't let me tell you something for once? I know you seem to know everything, but it gets annoying being preceded by you on _every_ subject."  
"I let you have your entrance."  
Eragon tilted his head thoughtfully, considering the validity of that statement.  
"True enough. Hvassranaín, thank you for warning them. People" he glared pointedly at Peter, drawing a sheepish look from the boy "sometimes take it the wrong way."  
"My pleasure, Eragon _svit-madr_."  
Aslan and Eragon stood there for a while, engaging in mental conversation, whilst the other two stood in uncomfortable silence.  
' _How long did it take you to tell them?'  
'I'm not answering that. You already know. I just didn't want to complicate things further.'  
'A fair reason, though it seems to be punishing you for the act. Peter, Susan and Lucy barraged me with questions as to how you and I are brothers. I staved them off for now, but I can still feel the questions bouncing around Peter's head. He is getting curious, brother, and you know how determined children can be in getting answers.'  
'I know __**that**_ _from you. I had to put up with you for twenty-three years, and if it wasn't for the fact that you were partially omniscient at the time, I could have kept_ **some** _of my secrets. Sometimes I curse that ability. It can really ruin friendships.'  
_ Aslan laughed heartily inside both their minds.  
' _You mean when people with no experience have omniscience. It requires common sense and responsibility to be fully effective.'  
'And by that you mean knowing when to shut up, a skill I swear you still haven't mastered.'  
_ ' _Careful, brother. Dragon or no, you're still jealous. After all, who can blame you? With a brother such as me?'  
'And you're telling me to be careful? Aslan, since when did __**you**_ _start being able to match my skill with words and sly jokes? I'm the trickster; you're the serious one.'  
'And you're the one who told me not to conform to stereotypes. I'm blaming you for this.'  
_By this point, both brothers were so amused at each other that their physical bodies were shaking with contained laughter. Peter and Hvassranaín looked at one another uneasily, since Peter didn't completely trust the wolf, given what he had put him through, and the two just shrugged in unison, deciding that it was safe to put aside their differences, given the two most powerful beings in Narnia were standing directly in front of them.  
"So…what happened while we were getting here?" Peter asked, sitting down on the grass beside the wolf, and Hvassranaín lay down also, tail twitching uncomfortably.  
"I can't clearly remember, Peter- _finiarel_. After he" Hvassranaín motioned to Eragon, "destroyed the waterfall, I and another were washed into the river. Eragon drew me out, and _something"_ the wolf shivered at the memory "happened. I felt empty, so _empty._ Like there was nothing in the world that mattered anymore. My name had disappeared, as if it had simply never existed. The letters I knew, but the word made no sense. For an age, it seemed, I lay thus. The magic Eragon _svit-madr_ wrought had shut down most of my body, and just my mind was there. Without a name… I saw what I had done, without opinion or a warping mirror of an excuse, nor the clouded window of a mindset. It was _vile_. I felt remorse for all that I had killed, injured, hurt, _everything._ I deserved death, Peter- _finiarel_ , for what I had done. Eragon _svit-madr_ had been recovering during that time, and I could feel him coming back to consciousness. My mind begged for death, an end to my suffering. Instead, he gave me back the one thing that I least deserved. A name, but not the one I had. A name that gave me a second life, unbound, a second _chance._ Free to do whatever I wished, whether it be return to my old ways or follow the one who gave me the opportunity. But if I went back, even Tash would be too good for me. Too sweet, too short, too kind. Eragon _svit-madr_ rescued me from that which I had followed, and gave me a choice. I find it impossible to believe that he did this, especially after what I did to him. He has changed, Peter- _finiarel._ He is no longer the Dragon Rider who would slaughter and massacre, heedless of life and its preciousness." Peter's eyes widened at Hvassranaín's words.  
"I see you do not believe me. But I have seen Eragon throughout his time here. He has changed, ever since that fateful day. There are stories of his rage stretching back to the two years before that _demon_ " Hvassranaín spat, and Peter knew he could only be referring to one person "started this damned winter. He slaughtered all those who opposed as he fought to retrieve what had been taken from him. Blood rained upon the plains of the North after that day. But" Hvassranaín's eyes hardened, the firmness in his tone unmistakeable "he is changed once again. While he, too, is not free of sin, do not condemn him for the actions he has committed. Forgive him, and see where he will walk. Unlike me, it is the least he deserves."  
Peter looked at the silhouette of the elf standing by Aslan's side, hand wandering aimlessly over the other's fur, silver hair flowing proud in the wind. Sun radiated around his shadow-cast form, the sapphire sword at his hip. Stood steadfast, he saw someone who had watched millennia pass, experienced life in its joy and suffering. One who stood at the side of those whose power and knowledge surpassed all understanding, and yet stooped to the level of those who needed enlightenment, putting them before himself. In one word: awe. Eragon and Aslan turned to the pair lying behind them, and lay down also, just revelling in each other's presences. Eragon always felt happy around Aslan; it was almost like having Saphira back, having someone who understood you and cared for you. Hearing the words that had passed between the wolf and human, he knew what he had done, and saw all that Peter was feeling. To be viewed as such…he did not deserve it.  
' _Do not be disheartened, Eragon. The road to redemption is long and hard, and will only be achieved in time.'_ Foríngandí whispered encouragingly in his mind, and Eragon smiled happily. For once since Saphira had been captured, he was at peace.  
The quiet was broken, however, as a shrill note pierced the air like an arrow, renting that peace in two. Peter, Hvassranaín and Eragon exchanged an alarmed look, and all got to their feet in a panic, racing down the slope towards the source of the noise, filing through trees and squeezing through the camp. They were met with this sight: Wolves were circling a tree in which Lucy and Susan were sheltering; occasionally jumping up in an attempt to grab Lucy's dangling legs.  
"Get back!"  
Peter and Hvassranaín fanned out, staring down the two wolves, Peter once again pointing Rhindon at one wolf while Hvassranaín pounced upon the other, catching its neck in his jaws, immobilising it as Peter faced the other. Eragon came round from behind and jumped into the tree, pulling Lucy and Susan higher into the leafy branches, away from the grounded threat, before jumping down to the lowest boughs, observing as the wolf attempted to flank Peter, to no avail. With nothing but a growl, both Eragon and Hvassranaín knew the beast's intention, the former seeing the forming thought, the latter understanding what the growl meant, and released his vice grip on the other wolf's neck, and sprinted for the gap between the two. The other wolf leapt, aiming for Peter's throat, Rhindon placed too low to kill the wolf before it got him. Hvassranaín prayed he was not too late, and jumped under the wolf, catching his teeth on the wolf's throat, holding tight, ripping it open. But Rhindon was directly in line with his trajectory, and it slit his side, exposing blood and bone. Eragon's mouth parted in silent horror, dropping to the ground and rushing over to Hvassranaín, examining the injury. But it was no use. Rhindon had raked the bone, just under where the ribcage stopped, and had strayed too deep. The pleural membranes had been rent. Even Lucy's cordial could not save him.  
"Hvass…" Eragon's voice locked up and seized in fear, his hands shaking as they hovered over the wound. Not again… not after he had lost _him_. It was too soon, too quick, too _painful._  
"Hush, Eragon." Hvassranaín whispered, his voice not filled with pain, but peace. "This was meant to happen. Forgiveness or no, I belonged dead at that waterfall. Please… just let me go. Do not mourn me. Give that demon what she deserves. Free Saphira, reclaim your life. You, of all people, had suffered enough for that." And with one last rattling breath, the light dimmed in those grey eyes. Something, deep within Eragon, that had only just reformed, snapped. He stared on, paralysed by the dead body before him. Tilting his head to the sky, he screamed torment unto the taunting blue.  
' _ **No! Not again! Please! Why do you hate me, Father!?'**_ He collapsed upon the body of the one he had forgiven, his body unable to process the loss he had just received, his mind retreating into itself, only to replay that which had started it all.

Eragon watched, dull-minded, as a black-and-white image coalesced itself before his mind's eye while his body was incoherent. He couldn't think, couldn't act, only observe. An image of what he had seen, all those millennia ago, of that one fateful choice that had ended the peace.  
' _Please, no more. Leave me be, Father. Haven't I suffered enough already? Why do you insist on tormenting me?'_ Unheeding of his protests, the image came closer, and his vision overlapped into the memory.

 _"Eragon? May I speak with you?"  
Eragon opened one eye, and relaxed as he saw Arya standing on the ledge to his and Saphira's cave, the old grief still present in her eyes. It had been five hundred years since the trio arrived in Narnia, and they had settled down in the far west, hunting and preying upon the beasts that roamed there. Eragon had met with his brother upon his arrival, rejoicing with Aslan for a day and night, along with the satyrs and fauns, and the talking animals. Those had surprised him, at first, but he had since got used to it. They had lived peacefully there, generally doing nothing, flying across the sky and meeting with Aslan and the other beasts at the Stone Table. They had driven the Calormen Empire back into the farther west. He had met with the humans in Telmar, and given unto them a ring, forged from gold and inset with onyx, carved as a dragon, as a sign of his peace and a promise that he would protect them if harm ever came upon them, as long as they were not the instigators. Several times that had happened, and he had later imbued the ring with his own life force, creating a pseudo-memory, an Eragon unstuck in time and bound to that ring, as an advisor to their leaders. That ring later laid upon the finger of Caspian I, and his line, but that is a tale for another time. Eragon glanced over at his mate, sleeping peacefully against his side, and nodded.  
'What is it, Arya-_ _ **nann**_ _? Saphira is tired, and we are resting. She can feel the eggs in her belly already forming. It will not be long before she lays.' He replied, for indeed they were both exhausted. Saphira had been out searching for food, to prepare herself for the process, and Eragon had contributed to this. Arya's face twitched for a moment, but then reformed its original position.  
"Jadis has been seen coming down from the North, an army behind her. I believe she intends to uproot the Tree of Protection." Arya uttered, face solemn. Eragon's eyes instantly hardened. If Jadis was returning… it spelled trouble and danger for everyone. They had to stop her. Nudging Saphira, he explained what had happened, once she woke. Saphira's eyes also hardened, and the trio made their way into the sunlight, and lumbered into the sky, flying north. Arya's eyes scanned the forested land below them from Saphira's back, and called out an open clearing below them, where they landed, catching their breath.  
'Where are they, Arya- __**nann**_ _? I thought you said they would be here?'  
"They will come, Eragon." Arya replied, fiddling with the saddle she sat on, and the three settled down to wait. After an hour, rustling among the branches perked Eragon's and Arya's attention, and he could make out the outlines of warriors in the trees.  
'Come out, Jadis. We know you hide here. Come out and make your demise swift, coward.' Eragon growled, tail impatiently sweeping the ground, exposing bare frozen dirt.  
"Strong words, little pretender." The lithe, icy, tempting voice of that false monarch floated, musical, yet sour, across the air, and she stepped out into the clearing, wearing a white, flowing dress, an odd, spear-like shaft of dull crystal in her hand, magic clearly wrought into it.  
'Throw away the wand, Jadis. You shall not pass this point. Narnia belongs not to you. Die in ignominiousness, and leave the peace be.'  
"Throw away the wand, you say?" Jadis answered, the hint of incredulousness in her voice, but the rest was pure malice. "Very well."  
Jadis threw the wand straight at Arya, who caught it with practiced ease, as if they had rehearsed the movement, and Eragon realised the folly of his words.  
'Saphira, move!' But it was too late. Before Saphira could reply or move, the crystal came down in between two of her scales, and cold, dead magic rushed over her skin and her movements stiffened, slowed, and stopped. Eragon stared in horror as Arya jumped off Saphira, twirling that accursed wand between her hands, a terrible, triumphant, __**evil**_ _grin on her face. Quickly, he shifted form, so that he was a lesser target, and fled into the safety of the trees, and they webbed behind to protect one of their own, preventing Jadis and Arya from pursuing him and finishing the job they started. As he panted under the canopy of the friends that sheltered him from his fate, anger formed itself in his chest, a red-hot, iron-hard mass. Arya had done this… for what? Power? If she had done it for that, then that was no longer the Arya he knew. She had betrayed him, even after all they had achieved. Perhaps she had done it for spite, to make him experience that which he dreaded, when he had received the opposite fate. Either way, it was not something Arya would do. His rational mind battled against the raging anger, but the molten, rushing tide would not be stayed. Facing the way he had come, he took this anger, and cried out in the most powerful magic he knew.  
"_ _ **Eka avir'ganí ono, Jadis, hverr threyja domia thornessa ílias mor'ranrs. Eka avir'ganí ono, Arya, dautr abr Islanzadí, un eka taune frá ono allr namar celöbras. Ono eru néiat wiol annr langr sundavar-vergandí, orono dröttning älfyas, orono du shur'tugal abr Fírnen, orono fricai iet. Ono eru aí myrkí-kverstandí, aí sundavr, hverr kalla sig aí fricai, mar thenaer thaefathan hamr älfrinns un vergarí älfr, hverr truaí ono. Ono eru aí syíkjandí, un ono weohnata fá wiol du zar'roc un du mein ono thrauthaí vel ǫdr iet. Thelduin ramíngu onr, syíkjandya hjartyas issaleikr stenrs, un havr dagar ill onr, thí eka velspara thornessa: Nem syíkjandya brenna unin brisingr un drekkja unin adurna, svá weohnata ono. Atra älf waíse kennai maru allr thaët edtha, Eragon sundavar-vergandí, sönr abr Brom, könungr skulblakyas villr, yfandí du shur'tugalars, bóndr abr Saphira, dautr abr Vervada un Iormûngr, dröttning skulblakyas villr, un bródir abr Aslan, sönr abr könungr-udhen-du-aegór, ethgri aí blödhfaedhír midhli vae. Thorta orthar skilnathr onr, un thenaer Eitha, syíkjandya!"  
**_ _But there was no reply, only evil laughter, and Eragon turned and ran back through the forests, trees weeping sap like tears for his loss. Crystal black tears fell to the ground, staining the icy ground beneath him, as he wound through branches and trunks, sneaking away through friends like a thief in the night. His mind strove to connect back to his mate's as he ran, but he could not. Her mind was slow, lethargic and asleep as it fell deeper into the enchanted sleep the stone held her in. By the time he had broken out of the northern forests, coming upon the Lantern Wastes and the lantern itself, her mind was all but gone, the connection straining like it did when he and Saphira had been at opposite ends of the Empire. Leaning upon the cold iron of the lantern, he glanced around again. This place was not safe for him anymore. He looked east through the trees, seeing Cair Paravel twinkling in the sunlight, the sapphire Eastern Sea shining beyond that. He couldn't go back. The loss was too fresh, too painful. He had to leave this place, and Aslan's country would only amplify his pain. His gaze instead turned west, into the gap beyond the leaves, where coats hung, undisturbed. That loss was old. Two thousand years old, by their measure. The world there had changed. It would not remind him of the loss there. The opening led to an entirely different country, anyway. Straightening, he unbuckled Brisingr from his hip, and spoke "_ _ **Malmr, mor'amr, un**_ _ **frethya**_ _ **thornessa sverdr un skálpr, un huildr älf wiol edtha, vardo frá du syíkjandya. Eka weohnata taune thornessa bjartmaldr einnvarr frëma, hvenaer thornessa wyrda hethr kausta un eithaí:  
Íll verkar weohnata waíse hverfaí gipta, hvenaer brödir iet kausta unin ven,  
Medh du titlingr guths älfrs, ristvakar weohnata waíse wiol né frëma hridd,  
hvenaer älfr berr tǫnnar älfrs, vetrsúd kausta andlit eom andlit medh hel älf,  
un hvenaer älfr dyja mǫn älfrs, du Sundavrlandr weohnata havr fëon einnvar frëma.  
Hvenaer du blödh madars, un du maela ván konyas varda du Sundavrlandr frá du sætya helgr du borg'ran tveirri, du hridd illrs er leysaí un eithaí ae."**_ **  
** _The metal split, revealing a cavity he could place Brisingr in, and he slotted the sword into the depression. The metal flowed back into place, hiding the sword like it had never even been there. Looking to the north, his eyes blazed as he saw a massive storm rolling on, thunder and lightning crackling and booming. Even if he couldn't save Saphira now, he was taking those who followed that traitor to Tash's realm. Leaping up into the air, he sprouted wings and flew on the violent air currents, scales bursting through his skin, fingers lengthening into claws, as he scanned the forest below, tossed from its gentle slumber by the shaking hold of the wind, for any sign of the witch's forces. In the gaps between the pines, he saw the icy traitor making her way towards the Lantern wastes, a triumphant gleam in her eye, the damned wand in her hand, and malformed, evil beasts behind her. Beside her stood the one he had trusted for so long, and his heart softened infinitesimally. Even if she had done that, it wasn't right for him to kill her. He needed to keep them out of Narnia, as protection in case the Tree fell. But how do you combat ice and darkness? Fire and light.  
"_ _ **Deloi, waíse kverstí, un atra blödh brisingrleikr onr rïsa unin du vindr. Blöthr du tauthrandí du seithrs hvitr, un vardí du Sundavrlandr wiol du hridd langst, thaët älf náta waíse**_ **."** _A seemingly unending crack split the forest a hundred meters in front of Jadis, and lava bubbled up into the violent air, rising higher and higher, until it towered over the highest trees. Being imbued with magic, it did not freeze upon contact with the stormy air, but instead glowed all the brighter.  
"I shall say this once more, Jadis! Leave Narnia be! Even you cannot defeat this barrier, and you, Arya, have no chance! Leave for the North, and keep that as your sick realm! But your end will come, should you invade! 'When Adam's flesh and Adam's bone sits at Cair Paravel in throne, the evil time shall be over and done'! Be glad I do not honour the feud I invoked, or you would be dead where you stand! Let that be your warning." And with that, Eragon flew down upon the Witch's horde, slitting throats and sending bolts of sapphire flame into many, incinerating them, as he routed the remaining few, staying well away from Jadis and her crystal spear. Once he was confident that she did not have enough force to gain dominion over the rest of Narnia with the group she had come with, he soared back into the sky, and headed back to the opening near the lamppost. He landed, and glanced back over his shoulder. That wall was visible even here. It couldn't be helped. The pain and grief still raw in his heart, he turned to the exit, and walked through the coats._

Eragon slowly opened his eyes, adjusting to the dark around him. He was lying on a bed inside a crimson tent, Brisingr over his chest. On the other side of the tent, there was a patch of the grass that his brother loved to lie on so much. He was in Aslan's tent. His mind was still processing what he had seen in his new mindset, and his heart throbbed guilt at his actions. He had not tried to save Saphira, or stop the intruders properly in any way. He had just erected a wall, massacred the meagre force Jadis had brought, and flew off. Although that wall had protected Narnia for a while, it had all but frozen after two years, and they had cut through the stone with axes and picks. He had run off, leaving Saphira to her fate, be it death or the one she held now, a statue in the Witch's courtyard.  
In all fairness, he had been lucky Jadis had that cruel streak; if she didn't, she would've shattered Saphira into pieces, and killed off the two biggest threats to her kingdom. The opening rustled, and Aslan padded in, lying down upon his patch.  
"Brother…" Eragon whispered, his voice stricken with grief, doubt and shame, "how do you continue to see me for the good in my heart, if it even is there, instead of the person I have become? Looking back… it is heart-wrenching how selfishly I behaved. I _abandoned_ her, little one, and I did not look back when they captured her. I do not…" his voice cut out, and he finished his sentence in his mind. ' _I do not deserve life for my actions.'_  
''You _, of all people, have suffered enough for that. 'Those were the last words of one who believed in you. Will you let him down and give up the chance he gave us?'_ Aslan replied quietly, but the words were charged, and full of force, though not unkind. He could hear the concern buried deeply in the lion's words, concern for the one who had played and took care of him all those years ago. The force shook Eragon back to reality, and he stared at the ceiling.  
' _Sometimes I think Father hates me. Why would he script Hvassranaín's death as such, and thrust me back to that memory, the very memory I wish to see least of all, if not to torment me, and place my misdeeds before my eyes, where they cannot be ignored? Why else?'  
'Eragon. There are things you do not know. Our Father does not write the fates of all those who enter and leave this realm. That is the whim of a far greater being, one who even our Father does not understand. I do not know why Hvassranaín died, but it was for good. He saved Peter. There is not a more honourable death to be had.'  
'But how many more must die before this being is satisfied, and deems it right that we triumph over Jadis?' _Eragon replied wearily, with the sense of one who had had this conversation many times before. ' _You may look beyond, but I look at the path at our feet. I was as such, once. I was one of those who were in thrall of that being, merely a pawn, to be thrown away without second thought. Why do you think that the elves abhorred killing animals? They are pure, untainted. It is nothing but cruel to snatch that one precious thing from them. I strive to protect all those I care for, but I cannot. First Roran, then Fírnen, then Saphira, and now Hvassranaín. I cannot cope with this anymore, brother. My mind is broken, and has been ever since Saphira was entombed in stone. It cannot understand or reason. It only plots, feels and acts. It would be better if you simply killed me right now. I am going mad, slowly, and I fear that I will be the next evil Narnia will have to weather, if I continue as thus. The only cure is Saphira's release, but I will not allow more of my family to pass on. It is a conundrum I cannot solve.'  
_ Aslan just listened, ears pressed low to his head, silently weeping in the privacy of his mind. It broke him to see his brother like this, admitting that death and pain were what he deserved. As much as Eragon needed Saphira, a presence a bind him and make him whole, one who cared for the other, so too did Aslan. Eragon had been the one constant in his childhood, then so unjustly ripped away. But he couldn't talk about that. He didn't have the right, next to his brother. To have the one he cared for, more than any in all the worlds connected to the Wood, incarcerated in cold stone, betrayed by the first female who he had ever chased after, and to lose all his true family to violent, unjust deaths. Aslan was as dependent on the guiding light Eragon held for him as the love Saphira had given to Eragon all those millennia ago.  
' _The only way I can solve my pain is to kill all those who oppose this goal, but… I cannot in good conscience do that. Even if they will burn eternally in Tash's realm, it is an act I would condemn myself for until the end of my days.'_ Eragon chuckled feebly. ' _Here we are, the two sons of the Emperor-Beyond-The-Sea, lying upon grass and linen, one broken, the other silently pleading the other to stay.'_ Aslan's eyes shot open in shock. How did he know what had been running through his mind?  
' _Little one, compared to Saphira, you are, at times, an open book. I love you as the brother Murtagh left to be desired, and I thank you for all the support you have given me over the years we have been together, but sometimes you can be so obvious. The one thing I wish to do in this realm is free Saphira, and I see now that the way I go about that is not violence, nor forever doubting my actions. It is forgiving those who will take forgiveness, and giving those who deserve it their due. But that is not my act to pass. I am still fragile, and one more tragedy such as this will push me beyond repair._ _ **Eka, Eragon, sönr abr Brom, ach binna sig eom thornessa ren: Eka weohnata nae vergarí annr madr orono kykvendi, hverr náta thorta, ëfa theirra hjartya huildr annr ilumëo, hvéki lágr älf atra waíse. Ëfa eka jierda eïnradin iet, un eka vergarí medh ráth, atra du reona grimmr thrautha edtha frá lífa, un sé du könungr daeamars brenna edtha unin istalrya, un drekkja edtha unin du blödh brisingrleikr du delois.'**_ A whisper of magic rushed through the silence and dark, sealing the oath and all its meaning. Eragon placed Brisingr upon the bed, and stood up, walking over to his brother, and lay down next to him, curled against his brother's underside, each just basking and resting in the other's presence, happy and content. Lucy would then walk in many hours later, at the sunrise, and see the two of them together, Aslan's front paw curled over Eragon's back, the other's hand loosely clasped in the golden mane, a serene smile on both their faces.

 **Dun, dun, dun! Who would have guessed! (most of you, I think, but that's besides the point) Arya is the traitor! I know this chapter got kind of depressing in places, but it's all part of the plot(I bet you weren't expecting me to do that thing with Maugrim, though).  
Moving swiftly on, you're going to have a bad time if you try to translate those ridiculously long passages of the Ancient Language, so let me do it for you. I had to intersplice Old Norse words into these to get the desired effect across, and they are in bold in this translation, though not the story( the grammar is all the Ancient Language, though)** **  
"** _Rïsa, garm. Theyna néiat wiol frëma hridd. Ono eru néiat du garm seithrs hvitr. Nam onr er Hvassranaín. Gánga eom Aslan. Forínga finna ono, un älf taka ono aí tverri_ _ **kostr**_ _."  
Rise, wolf. Be silent for no longer. You are not the wolf of the White Witch (I mean in the sense that a slave is of its master, i.e __**actual**_ _possession) . Your name is Sharpclaw. Go to Aslan. Forgiveness finds you, and gives you a second chance."_

" _Eka avir'ganí ono, Jadis, hverr threyja domia thornessa ílias mor'ranrs. Eka avir'ganí ono, Arya, dautr abr Islanzadí, un eka taune frá ono allr namar onr celöbras. Ono eru néiat wiol annr langr sundavar-vergandí, orono dröttning älfyas, orono du shur'tugal abr Fírnen, orono fricai iet. Ono eru aí myrkí-kverstandí, aí sundavr, hverr kalla sig aí fricai, mar thenaer thaefathan hamr älfrinns un vergarí älfr, hverr truaí ono. Ono eru aí **syíkjandí** , un ono weohnata **fá** wiol du zar'roc un du **mein** ono thrauthaí vel **ǫdr** iet. Thelduin ramíngu onr, **syíkjandya** medh hjartya issaleikr, un havr dagar ill onr, thí eka velspara thornessa: Nem **syíkjandya** brenna unin brisingr un **drekkja** unin adurna, svá weohnata ono. Atra älf waíse kennai maru allr thaët edtha, Eragon sundavar-vergandí, sönr abr Brom, könungr skulblakyas **villr** , yfandí du shur'tugalars, bóndr abr Saphira, dautr abr Vervada un Iormûngr, dröttning skulblakyas **villr** , un bródir abr Aslan, sönr abr könungr-udhen-du-aegór, ethgri aí blödhfaedhír midhli vae. Thorta **orthar skilnathr** onr, un thenaer eitha, **syíkjandya**!"_  
 _"I curse you, Jadis, luster for dominion over this peaceful place (lit. who desires dominance of this place of place). I curse you, Arya Islanzadísdaughter, and strip you of all your titles (lit. I take from you all your names of honour). You are no longer Shadeslayer, or the queen of the elves, or the rider of Fírnen, or my friend. You are a backstabber (lit. Night-cutter, my own idiom), a pretender who calls herself a friend, and then severs the bond and kills him who trusted you. (lit. A shadow, who calls herself a friend, but then thickens her skin and slays him who trusted you). You are a betrayer, and you will suffer for the misery and pain you have brought forth upon me (lit. You have thrown upon my soul). Enjoy the dominion of your little kingdom(lit. Reign over you little kingdom), icy-hearted betrayers (lit. Betrayers with icy hearts), and enjoy your evil days while they last (lit. And have your bad days (implication being it's a finite thing)), because I prophesise(this is an actual word in the Ancient Language. Odd, huh?) this: Just as traitors (no words in Old Norse or the Ancient Language for this, so I'm just using 'betrayers' again) burn in fire and drown in water, so too will you. Let this world's people know (lit. Let it be known by all) that I, Eragon Shadeslayer, son of Brom, king of the wild dragons (I will explain how this is even a thing next chapter, so please, no barraging with questions), mate (lit. Husband, no word in either language for 'mate'), daughter of Vervada and Iormûngr, queen of the wild dragons, and brother of Aslan, son of the Emperor-Beyond-The-Sea( after the sea), invoke a blood feud(if you don't know what one of these is,_ _ **look it up**_ _. These things can seriously out of hand) between us. Say your parting words, and leave, betrayers!"  
_ **Whew. Next paragraph.  
** _"Malmr, mor'amr, un frethya thornessa sverdr un skálpr, un huildr älf wiol edtha, vardo frá du_ _ **syíkjandya**_ _. Eka weohnata taune thornessa bjartmaldr einnvarr frëma, hvenaer thornessa wyrda hethr kausta un eithaí:  
_ _ **Íll verkar**_ _weohnata waíse_ _ **hverfaí**_ _gipta, hvenaer brödir iet kausta unin ven,  
Medh du titlingr guths älfrs, ristvakar weohnata waíse wiol né frëma hridd,  
hvenaer älfr __**berr tǫnnar**_ _älfrs, vetrsúd kausta andlit eom andlit medh hel älf,  
un hvenaer älfr __**dyja mǫn**_ _älfrs, du Sundavrlandr weohnata havr fëon einnvar frëma.  
Hvenaer du blödh madars, un du maela_ _ **ván**_ _konyas varda du Sundavrlandr frá du_ _ **sætya**_ _helgr du borg'ran tveirri, du hridd illrs er_ _ **leysaí**_ _un eithaí ae."  
"Metal, open, and hide my weapon (lit. This sword and sheath(again, this is a word in the Ancient Language? Oddly specific.)), and protect them from traitors (lit. Hold them for me, protected from the betrayers). I will retrieve it again (lit. I will take this brightsteel (yes, this is the actual word for brightsteel) once more), when this prophecy(no equivalent in either language, so I'm saying 'fate', i.e, a fate that has been read, like how Eragon's was read by Angela.) has come to pass(lit. Has come and gone): Just put the Golden Age Prophecy in this part, don't bother translating it(and if you don't know how the Golden Age Prophecy, look it up. It's the one that goes 'when Adam's flesh, blah, blah, blah', but that's the second verse(again, no barraging with questions about how he could possibly know the Golden Age Prophecy))_

 _Deloi, waíse kverstí, un atra blödh brisingrleikr onr rïsa unin du vindr. Blöthr du tauthrandí du seithrs hvitr, un vardí du Sundavrlandr wiol du hridd langst, thaët älf náta waíse_. _  
Earth, crack(lit. Be cut) and let your fiery blood rise into the air. Block the followers of the White Witch, and protect Narnia(its second name is the 'shadowlands'. That is a canon thing, and I am leaving you to figure out why.) for as long as you can (lit. For the longest time that it can be)._

 _Eka, Eragon, sönr abr Brom, ach binna sig eom thornessa ren: Eka weohnata nae vergarí annr madr orono kykvendi, hverr náta thorta, ëfa theirra hjartya huildr annr ilumëo, hvéki lágr älf atra waíse. Ëfa eka jierda eïnradin iet, un eka vergarí medh_ _ **ráth**_ _, atra du reona_ _ **grimmr**_ _thrautha edtha frá lífa, un sé du könungr daeamars brenna edtha unin istalrya, un_ _ **drekkja**_ _edtha unin du blödh brisingrleikr du delois.'  
"I, Eragon, son of Brom, do bind myself to this oath: I will never kill any man or speaking animal (lit. animal, who can speak(the Ancient Language has no present participles, and it is really annoying sometimes), if their hearts hold any goodness(using 'truth', since there are no equivalents to 'goodness' in either language), no matter how small (lit. However small it may be). If I break my word with the intent to kill(lit. If I break my word, and I kill with intent(this is basically saying 'don't break the oath if I accidentally kill someone when I had no intention of killing him/her in the first place'), may Death (lit. The Grim Reaper(come on, he's been living in England for at least a small bit of time, it stands to reason he would pick up a few of their odd quirks) cut the tether that holds be to the land of the living(lit. Throw me from life, (I'm just being a little bit poetic here)) and may the Devil(lit. King of demons( I refer you to the point about the Grim Reaper)) burn me in flames and drown me in the earth's fiery blood.  
O_O  
_ **So? Good, bad, meh? How was it? I really want to know what you thought of it.  
In the mean time, shoo! I need to work on the next chapter of my second story now(I am doing this on a rotation)  
Ta-Ta for now!**


	7. Chapter 7: Forgetten pains of past days

**Hey guys! I am** _ **really**_ **sorry this chapter took so much longer to write.  
Disclaimer, **_**right now**_ **: I am dipping into dangerous territories with this chapter. If** _ **any (and I mean**_ _ **any)**_ **of you are devoutly Christian, and think it blasphemy if I tamper with the Christian Bible, then this chapter is** _ **not**_ **going to please you. The rest of you, enjoy.  
Disclaimer: I don't own Inheritance Cycle, blah, blah, blah, C.S. Lewis. I wish these things didn't need to be written in every chapter. **

Chapter 6

Aslan's eyes fluttered open, the golden orbs adjusting to the meagre light filtering through the red of the surrounding sheets of silk. It might have been dark for ones such as the Pevensies, or the other beings in the Shadowlands, but it was like streaming sunlight upon a clear summer's midday for him and his brother. Outside, in the open air, he could hear the noisy rasping and scraping as the Pevensies spread their food and ate it in the morning air. He smiled. For whatever reason Fate had chosen them, she had chosen right. Just as his brother had said, they were indeed ones who would govern the Shadowlands well. Looking down at the gently sleeping form of that aforementioned brother, curled up, peaceful, held close by his paw, he reminisced of simpler times, when it had simply been him and Eragon, playing and cementing their ever-present bond. An image of Eragon, staring down at him lovingly, scratching him in that divine place just behind the ears, flashed through the front of his mind, as emotionally heavy as it was brief. Those had been the best of times, for both of them, especially himself. And now, it seemed, the roles had been reversed. Now Eragon was the one in need of support and help.  
' _Oh, how times have changed, brother.'_  
It always amazed him how resilient Eragon had been. Perhaps it was the upbringing his brother had endured, but he always seemed to come back from each blow, never wavering, never backing down, but standing up for what was right. Even if one condemned Eragon for his actions on that fateful day, they couldn't claim that it was unprovoked. Eragon had acted as a dragon would, and as a human. The question was which side would come out victorious. Aslan was shaken from his musings by a dancing flutter between the pads of his foot, and his leg jerked involuntarily.  
"Really, brother? You're sinking that low?" he deadpanned, laughing growls hidden behind his voice.  
"It was an open target, brother. You have to be more careful next time. You of all people should know that by now." The musical tones laughed gleefully, and the tickling sensation once again resumed, and now the coughing growls were out between both of them. Once the action held no more amusement for either of them, the feeling stopped, and both fell sombre.  
"You should tell them how this came about. They deserve to know that much." Aslan sighed, knowing that his brother would refute the statement. To his surprise, Eragon also sighed, but there was a twinge of… doubt? in his voice.  
"I know. They do deserve to know, but I fear what they will think of me when this tale has been told in its entirety. Will they think me brave, fearless, or selfish, a coward?"  
Aslan nuzzled a spot on the back of Eragon's head.  
"Brother, it doesn't matter what they think of you. Strive to be the best person you can, regardless of whether they uphold you as a paragon or not. None of us are perfect, not even I."  
Eragon disguised a fit of laughter under coughs. Had his brother really just admitted he wasn't perfect?  
"Well, either way, the day wanes, and I wager that those four are just about finishing their meal. Either that, or they're still in the middle of it." Eragon said offhandedly, and wriggled out from under Aslan's paw, standing up, closely followed by his brother, and they pushed aside the flaps to admit a stream of blinding sun. After their eyes had reacclimatized, they saw the Pevensies sitting by a table, Peter leaning against a rock, silver goblet in hand. Eragon motioned to Aslan, indicating he should stay put, and sat down next to Lucy, taking a slice of toast from the table and slowly taking small bites from it. Once he had finished what amounted to a morning meal, he appeared to stay still, but spoke to Edmund specifically, alone inside the younger brother's mind.  
' _What did you see there? I can guess you saw Saphira, but was there ever an elf with raven hair accompanying Jadis?'_ Edmund, surprisingly, did not physically react, and just replied in low, regretful tones.  
' _There was. She was…_ _ **enchanting**_ _, her appearance…. But you could see the madness and malice in her eyes. It was as clear as day.'  
_ Eragon's heart sank with that description. It seemed a century had not weathered her new mindset, then.  
' _She spoke of you like she once knew you, though. She called nothing but a farm boy, a human, one unworthy to be royalty. What is there in the past you haven't told us?'  
_ It couldn't be helped. They were all just too curious.  
' _That is why I and my brother are currently waiting. Once you have finished your meal, we will tell you what happened in our shared time. Aslan has his own side to add to mine.'  
_ Edmund nodded uncertainly, and returned to eating his toast, not giving anything away to his siblings, until all the food was gone, and both brothers stood up, and walked to the overhang, beckoning the four humans to follow them. As the grassy ground beneath them levelled out, and Cair Paravel came into view, Eragon and Aslan sat down facing the others, who sat down also, all except Edmund curious as to what was about to happen. Eragon hung his head in weariness, and looked each of them in the eyes, and let forth the tale.

 _'_ Are you sure about this, little one? Strange things when the Ancient Language is combined in new ways, especially, it seems, around you. _'  
It had been five months since Eragon and the group of elves had first landed in the place they thought would be suitable for the new home of the Riders, quite a ways downstream of the joining of the Âz Ragni and the Edda, many leagues east of Hedarth. There, the collection had set about building simple living spaces for themselves from stone, mostly using magic to shape and carve the material, whilst Saphira had brought it from a cliff even further in the east. Eragon's own was just a simple stone hut, in the style of the one Oromis had lived in on the Crags of Tel'naeir. He had added all the things which would be essential for their survival, like a fireplace for cooking and heating water. The one present feature that had been the driving force behind the experiment he was now performing, however, was the scrying mirror that stood in the corner of the room. Eragon, after conversing with the others in Alagaësia upon their arrival, felt it a too impersonal way of communicating, and had as such set out to devise a spell which allowed a projection of the caster to appear wherever they wished, barring warded places. He felt it would allow him the feeling of being in Alagaësia and conversing with those who he needed to speak to, whilst not actually circumventing his fate.  
'_We are inclined to agree with Saphira, Eragon-finiarel.' Glaedr and Umaroth added, the wariness against what Eragon what about to do clear. 'There is a reason there are so few spell-crafters left. Most die from a well-intended spell that drained their energy. None of us believe this is a wise venture.' _  
"Well," Eragon said "we'll never know until we try." And pronounced his invented spell before any of them could persuade not to go through with it._

" _ **Ǫnd**_ _ **, skaga!**_ _"_

 _Eragon awoke upon soft, emerald grass, a receding headache pounding his head like a drum. Above him, pure white clouds wandered aimlessly above him, clouded moonstone on pure sapphire. It seemed almost… surreal. He felt as if he wanted to just lie there, letting the world pass as it would, and finding beauty in its nuances and hidden wonders, but at the same time an uncontainable energy ran through his body like lightning, urging his muscles to run on through this land and explore the foreign terrain. Choosing the latter, at least in part, he slowly righted himself, and gazed at his surroundings. In the far, almost inconceivable distance, he could just about see a line of faint, holly-green trees, swaying peacefully in a non-existent wind. Bemused by this seemingly impossible place, Eragon walked slowly towards the line of trees, yet his movements felt as if they held more energy than they should. Before long, the emerald haze focused, and trees, as tall as those in Du Weldenvarden, came into sight. The oddest thing, though, was the vibrant minds running through each and every trunk; a mind that seemed more attributed to an animal than a plant. Each one was more active than the Menoa Tree had been during Agaetí Blödhren. They held no identifiable language, but he could feel the feelings and thoughts passing from one to the other. Whilst it was a wondrous sight, something about the place unnerved him; everything seemed too well-crafted, too_ _ **perfect**_ _. It was as if the gods had called the true form of the very world itself. Suddenly, a flash of gold and then silver rushed through the gaps in the myriad trunks, and a blur of the former snapped into his peripheral vision, and he saw a cat, large for its kind, hiding behind his left leg, as high in the shoulder as his knee, short gold hair raised, small, sharp teeth bared. The other snapped into existence in front of him, and a silver dragon, as high as his waist, a teasing expression on its face which quickly morphed to stunned silence when it saw Eragon.  
"_ _ **Atra esterní ono thelduin, Bjartskular**_ _."  
'_Well met, älfa. It is surprising to find one of your kind here. I was told that war had been victorious. What was the cause?' _a questioning, light voice, clearly female, asked, curiosity veiled behind courtesy.  
"You know of the war? That ended five months ago." Eragon replied uneasily, wondering what the dragoness meant by 'cause'.  
'_Did it? _' the dragoness replied bemusedly, '_ So **that** was the celebration five moons ago… What is your name, älfa _?'  
"Eragon, son of Brom." Eragon was becoming increasingly uneasy. There had not been a celebration in Alagaësia within a month of Galbatorix's death. He was either in an entirely different country, or… he shook his head mentally to clear those thoughts. He didn't want to consider the alternative.  
'_Brom… Brom… the name is familiar, yet I cannot place it. Are you a Rider? If not, of which house do you belong? _' This reply confused and scared him. It might be possible for the dragoness to have lived before the Fall, but if so, she had still been killed… but that left him…  
"_ _ **Eka eddyr aí shur'tugal.**_ _" He replied, raising his right hand, the silvery oval shining as bright as ever upon his palm. Lowering it again, he summoned up the courage to ask the question he did not want to know the answer to.  
"Where are we? What is this place?" To his surprise, the dragoness did not immediately reply, but stared at him off-centre, a dubious look in her eye.  
'_You ask that question, yet you should very well know, given you are here. The answer to your question: the afterlife, though I sense you are refuting my statement, Eragon. _'  
"I do not remember passing on, if what you say is correct. I am sure I would remember." He replied, the idea that he was dead, worryingly, not fazing him in the slightest.  
_'Can you not? I did not think that could happen. Though, now, looking closer, it seems your words hold some grain of truth. I see a faint aura about you. It may be that your soul is here, but your body is still alive. However _' the dragoness' tones suddenly became concerned,_ 'judging by the faintness, it is barely so.' _The dragoness turned round and took off, flying off into the sky, manoeuvring the dense branches beneath the emerald canopies. Feeling a rubbing on his leg, he realised that animal was still there, and sat down beside it, scratching it in the places he had often done for Saphira. Surprisingly, the cub didn't mind it, and instead purred loudly, pushing into his hand. Oddly, his gedwëy ígnasia was sparking on contact with the young animal, like how it had done after he had first touched Saphira.  
'_Perhaps he is another sort of magical animal, or it is simply because he is a spirit and I am still alive in some way. Either way, there is nothing I can do to alleviate my position, so I might as well stay here.' _Eragon mused thoughtfully, idly scratching the cat behind its small ears. It certainly didn't remind him of any cat he knew. For a start, its ears were rounded, instead of pointed, and its eyes had a circular pupil, rather than slitted, like the cats and werecats from Alagaësia.  
_ 'Perhaps a different kind. Given what's happened to me in general, nothing would surprise me anymore.' _The cub certainly liked being scratched behind the ears, though._

 _It had been an uncountable amount of time when Eragon noticed that someone odd was happening to the trees around him. It was as if they were, slowly but surely, moving aside, like they were admitting some massive, invisible creature through their leafy gates. It disturbed him, how different the afterlife was.  
Was it even the afterlife, though? The dragoness had said so, and Eragon was inclined to believe her, but there was something about this place that was more than just a place of the souls of the departed to rest. In his case, though, not quite so departed. The cub, who had long since fallen asleep over his legs, suddenly raised its head, its ears twitching, as if it was picking up a sound far off in the distance. Stepping off Eragon's prone form, it raced a few hundred feet into the woods, then stopped, turning back to face Eragon, and swung his head round in an almost human gesture, like he was beckoning Eragon to catch up. After brushing himself down, Eragon chased after the cub, weaving through the towering oaks and pines, always keeping the cub in sight, sometimes barely. Perhaps it was just another effect of the afterlife, but the cub seemed to have more stamina than most elves. By the end of their trek, Eragon was thoroughly out of breath, yet the cub was still rife with energy, neither out of breath or even visibly fatigued, like it had simply walked a few yards to find a better patch of sunlight to nap in. More than halfway along their run, the trees had stopped, and opened onto golden fields, yellow stalks flashing in the sunlight. Yet the grasses were not diseased or stunted, but were healthy, growing to his waist. Those, too, had passed, once again revealing emerald grass, as onyx bruises darkened the sapphire horizon, growing into towering mountains, their peaks shrouded in clouds. After almost an eternity, a spot of lighter sapphire had appeared, and the cub had angled towards that, until the colour had solidified into a waterfall of diamond water, crashing down from a sheer wall of obsidian rock, coated in flowers and climbers, almost like the Lianí vine. There, the cub just sat down, like he was waiting for something to arrive. Thoroughly puzzled by this behaviour, Eragon had his suspicions that this cub had more intelligence than he was letting on, but decided against attempting to communicate, lest he anger the cub.  
_'Come on, father. Where are you?' _  
Eragon nearly jumped in shock when he heard a young, rich voice, not broken, but not completely childish. It held undertones of something…_ _ **other**_ _, like it understood more than its age, even more so than the wisdom of dragons. But if that was the case, then how had he not learned to guard his projected thoughts? The two clashing facts didn't add up.  
"You speak?" Eragon asked nervously, fearful of what would happen when the cub realised he had been found out. The cub fixed him with an odd look, like he couldn't believe someone had heard him other than whoever 'father' had been.  
'_You can hear me? But that's impossible. Father said that he was the only person who could hear me speaking in this way.' _The voice was shocked, for sure, but the words were even more revealing.  
"All the elves can do it, as can humans, and for dragons, it is their sole method of communication. All of us are well adapted to using it. It seems as if your thoughts are unguarded, at least to me. It was like you were shouting the words for all to hear." Eragon replied, not unkindly, but the cub shook his head.  
'_No. That is not what I meant. There is something different about the way I and Father do it… he said something like our way and your way being on different lines. The same method, for sure, but not using the same language. I am amazed you can hear me at all.'  
" _What is your name, little one? I find it hard to believe one such as you would not have a name."  
'_Aslan. Aslan is my name. And yours is Eragon, is it not? What did that dragon mean about a celebration?'  
 _Eragon sighed amusedly. Another person he had to tell his tale to, then.  
"Well. It all started three years ago…"_

 _By the time he had reached the part about Galbatorix's demise, the sun had set, and indigo night had spread its wings through the sky.  
'_You have a very interesting history, Eragon. I haven't heard of any person coming in here with an aura such as yours, though. I wonder what Father will make of you, when he finally arrives.'  
 _"What do you mean by that, Aslan?" Eragon asked, smiling at the barely concealed childish humour behind the cub's tone.  
'_I **mean** ,' _Aslan laughed inside his mind '_ He can be so **slow** , sometimes. I swear he does it just to annoy me.' _Eragon saw that cub, and saw something he wished to protect, an untainted, pure being, untouched by violence, war, disease, any of the things which had plagued his own childhood. Aslan's muzzle drew back, exposing those small, sharp teeth, as he yawned, stretching out, and then lay down on the emerald grass beside Eragon, who was overcome with waves of fatigue from the day's events, and was now falling deeper into sleep.  
'_Goodnight, Eragon. I'm sure Father will be here in the morning.'  
 _" Goodnight, little one. Have peaceful sleep." And the darkness clouded over, blocking all senses._

 _Eragon once again awoke, this time in a completely different place. Beside him was water, the clear liquid lapping at a stony beach. Lifting himself up, he could see no people around, but there were boats half-in, half-out of the lake, for it was lake, nets wrapped up in the bottom.  
'_Where there are ships, there must be people. But if they are not here, I wonder where.' _Eragon mused, looking around for any sign of settlement, but hills blocked his view. Deciding the best course of action would be to use those hills as a vantage point in order to search the immediate surroundings. Running to the top of those hills, he beheld a town of white stones, low houses battered by sand-ridden winds and scorched by the blazing sun hanging above him. Beyond the town, he could see nothing but dunes of sand, high over the houses, and a road leading through them. He walked back down to the lake, and found a young boy sitting by the boats, staring at the sky, an odd look on his face. While he looked normal enough for a human child, there was something about him that did not fit. The eyes held the look of one who knew knowledge but did not understand it. His complexion was browned, yet it seemed to shine with an inner light. The best comparison Eragon could come up was that the boy had the body of a human, yet the temperament and wisdom of an elfling. Noticing the sound of footsteps on rock, he turned his head to see who was approaching.  
"What is your name, young one?" Eragon asked, casually enough, curious as to why such a young boy would dare to venture in the wilderness around his home, especially in such hostile conditions. The boy cocked his head, not understanding what Eragon had said, and asked him something equally unintelligible, though the words flowed, and contained far fewer stops. Eragon considered this problem somewhat, and then tried the other language he knew.  
"_ _ **Hvaët er nam onr?"  
**_ _The boy now looked sharply at him, a measure of curiosity in his kindly eyes, and he replied in the same tones.  
"I find it odd that someone from this world can actually speak this language. Only the Angels are said to know the secret, and I would like to know how a man managed to persuade such a being to teach him the skills."  
Eragon frowned, and his fingers wandered to the tips of his ears. They were rounded, as if the effects of the Blood-oath Celebration had never occurred, and he had been newly bonded to Saphira. His face was also reverted. The nose was less aquiline, and the cheekbones lower. Returning his attention to the boy sitting by the boats, his mind caught on one particular word he had said.  
"Angels? What are those?"  
Now the boy was staring at him even harder, trying to work out how a man could not know of the religion that permeated this small lake-side town. His complexion screamed foreigner, but he spoke the holy tongue like one who had grown up with it. The two did not mix.  
"Where do you come from, stranger? To not know what the messengers of God are, and yet speak his language like your mother tongue. I would like to know who you are, and who your parents are."  
Eragon was taken aback by the boy's bluntness. What had he gone through, to be so disregarding of manners? Perhaps it was simply just the fact he was alone, or maybe this was normal. Either way, the boy was waiting for an answer.  
"Eragon. Eragon, son of Brom. And yours?"  
Odd names, indeed.  
"Jesus, son of Joseph. What do you know of the tongue you speak?" Jesus asked, slightly less guarded, and somewhat more interested in the conundrum Eragon laid out before him.  
"It is impossible to lie in this tongue, and one can perform magic with it."  
Jesus nodded, though he also caught on another word.  
"Magic? What do you mean?"  
Eragon raised an eyebrow, and pointed his hand at the lake.  
"_ _ **Adurna, waíse kversto!**_ " _A gap appeared in the water, and widened, creating a passage that would allow a human to walk from one end of the lake to the other along the lakebed, without even being in danger of touching water unless they tried. Jesus clasped both hands over his mouth in shock, eyes unbelieving of the sight before him. Not only did this man, clearly a foreigner, know the holy tongue, but he could bring about miracles with but a few words of it. He had challenged the separation of the Red Sea from a millennium earlier. If this man was even a man at all. Why had he touched his ears when Jesus had called him a 'man'?  
"You know the language's properties, and yet you do not know its purpose. It is a restriction, a safeguard. Before this language was created, terrible acts were committed, acts that decimated the population. Only upon its creation was magic properly harnessed safely. Now. You wonder what I speak of. I shall tell you my story, bearing in mind I cannot lie in this language, and you can take whatever conclusions you may."  
For the next hours he spoke of the many things that had happened throughout his life, from Saphira's bonding to his defeat of Galbatorix. Throughout, Jesus was no less shocked, but now more willing to listen and accept what Eragon was saying. Upon the finishing of his tale, he felt a nagging thought upon the boy's mind, undeniably there.  
"What is it you wish to know, young one?"  
"I do not doubt what you say, since I know it to be true… but if you tell this to anyone else in Bethlehem, they would accuse you an unbeliever and cast you before the Pharisees to be judged."  
"I am more concerned about you, if that is the case. I can defend myself from such men. You, I think, cannot." Eragon replied, looking at Jesus' thin body. If anyone attempted to take him by force, they would not have much trouble. "This is what I want you to say in this tongue: I, Jesus, son of Joseph, swear by this oath: I will not speak of the events that Eragon, son of Brom, has revealed to him, and will speak of this to no-one, if he does not release Jesus from his oath. If he does, Jesus may speak freely to any he believes hold the truth and will not condemn him for the tale he holds. If he attempts to speak of it, or is forced, his voice will be lost for his safety while he is in the company of others."  
Once Jesus had repeated these words, a shouting could be heard coming up the hills around the lake. Upon the ridge, a man, dressed in a rough tunic, brown leggings covering his thighs, walked to the boats, followed by a number of others. They did not glance once at Eragon, as if they could not even see him, but their gazes fixed on Jesus, and pointed back to the town, shouting at him in their unintelligible tongue. Jesus answered back, and hung his head, slowly plodding back to the houses, feet heavy. When he looked back at where Eragon had stood, the rider was no longer there. Shaking his head, the long brown hair flailing about, he climbed the ridge and returned to his mother's house. He could already hear her chastising him for running away again._

 _'_ Wake up, Eragon! Father is arriving!'  
 _Eragon groaned as his eyes were assaulted by a barrage of dawn light, and he felt Aslan pawing his chest, attempting to shake him from sleep.  
"What do you mean, little one? Is he here, or is he close?"  
'_I mean he's almost here! You had better be prepared. Father can be somewhat perplexing to beings such as you.' _Aslan shouted nervously, and kept taking glances over his shoulder, looking at the waterfall, and beyond it.  
"Alright, alright. I'll get ready. When will he be here?" Eragon murmured, curious as to what could send the young lion into such a state of agitation.  
'_I don't know, but he always seems to come when I'm not looking or I'm not expecting him.' _Aslan replied, tones of nervousness threading through the last few words. For a while, lion and elf sat by the waterfall, keeping watch for this 'Father', and finally, their observations were rewarded, albeit in an odd way. Eragon was just staring at the water's surface by now, immersed by the liquid diamond, seemingly so perfect and clear, crisp, yet neither hot nor cold to the touch. Each droplet on his hand was in its own way a diamond, more precious than the ones that had decorated the belt of Beloth the wise. As he stared into their depths, images of other places flashed before his mind; horses, roads of rock, men in odd clothes walking down the cobbles; a thriving place, full of seemingly, again, men, but one in particular towered above the rest, dressed in shining robes; elves, short men with pointed ears and hairy feet, elves, dwarves, men, and ancient men with staves. None of this made sense to Eragon, and he attempted to unravel the mystery, in which time many layered voices, both treble and bass spoke, yet they were not of many people; instead, they seemed to add and culminate in a full voice, rich, deep, powerful, yet gentle and light, dancing around the bell tolls of the deeper parts of it.  
"Be careful, Son of Adam. Few have ever seen what that sacred water holds, and most go mad from it."  
Eragon looked up at the source of the sound and he found the speaker even more mind-boggling than the voice itself. A lion (as Aslan had corrected him, instead of a normal cat), but instead of the golden fur that Eragon had been expecting, his body was composed of starlight, shining radiance. The light was both fierce and faint; Eragon wanted to squint when he looked at the being, but he saw the outline clearly enough. It puzzled him. It was as if he saw two different things, yet he did not understand why he did so. Underneath the skin, Eragon could see single points, only slightly brighter than the light itself, swirling and flowing in random patterns, leaving afterimage trails in Eragon's vision, making the creature seem as if it was light striped with darkness. Radiant muzzle drew back, exposing transparent, shining teeth in a smile.  
"Impressive, Son of Adam. I did not think one of your kind could see me for what mine form truly is. Most just perceive a blinding light, accompanied by an unknowable presence. But you… you see both. You see the light that I embody, but also that which I am."  
"What do you mean, __**líkami tunglskins**_ _?" Eragon asked uncertainly, applying what he thought was the most apt name to the apparently nameless being. The lion just laughed heartily, though somehow Eragon knew the being was not laughing at him.  
"You certainly are adept with that language, Son of Adam, more so than the others. Most elves simply refer to me as __**Islingr,**_ _for that is all they see me as: a presence that brings light. You, though, see me as Aslan" the being inclined his head towards the lion cub lying next to Eragon "sees me. I see also an aura about you, Son of Adam. It seems that your physical existence is still clinging to life upon your own plane. I find it interesting and unsettling that a living spirit could find its way across the abyss." Eragon greatest fears had been confirmed by that one statement. This was, indeed, the afterlife.  
"Tell me, Son of Adam, what events came to your arrival in my realm."  
The statement was not an order, merely a request, but it carried behind it a force that Eragon could not deny. He told his tale, as he had for Aslan, and at times, odd looks appeared in those diamond eyes, but were gone as swiftly as dust in the wind before Eragon could interpret their meaning.  
By the end of his tale, Aslan had once again dozed off, and the two beings, elf, one unknowable, were sitting, one on the grass at the bottom of the waterfall, the other lying casually upon top, starlight front paws dangling lazily over the ledge of obsidian.  
"It seems I need to re-evaluate what your race can achieve, Eragon-_ _ **finiarel.**_ _I was unaware of what hardships your people have been put through, and I am sorry for the loss of your father, though I think he is here somewhere. You need only find him. That spell you created, though, is a breakthrough unto itself. To be able to transfer one's soul from one realm to the other, without the passing on of the physical existence… It is powerful. But I tell you this: this result, I feel, was a mistake. You intended to cast a projection to a place in your homeland, but you did not hold a destination in mind. Thus, the language cast you into the bridging realm;_ _ **my**_ _realm."  
"You speak of magic like you understand its nuances. Even the Grey Folk did not understand magic, and they crafted this language. How can that be?" Eragon asked, the more foolhardy elements of his personality spilling over, and received a forceful reply from the being.  
"Be careful, Son of Adam. Even if thou art a spirit ripped from its physical shell, thou art still bound and constricted by laws and forces thou understand not. Instead of the laws that govern thou and thine magic, but I am governed by laws that govern more than just your realm. Thus, I understand the laws that govern thine magic and thine existence, and I understand magic in its entirety, more so than even the Grey Folk. I do not argue that their act was powerful, for sure, but they played with forces and power that they could not comprehend. And so, they paid the price." Eragon was taken aback by the force behind the words. That same force had been there before, certainly, but it had been ambient, waiting. Now, it had a target, and Eragon instinctively knew he could not fight such force; it was folly to even think of doing so. But just as suddenly, the being's temperament swung back to calm.  
"Son of Adam. My son has told that you can hear him speak. Is this true?"  
Eragon, roused from his stupor, focused on the question.  
"Aye, it is, though Aslan said that I should not be able to. He said it was the same method, but a different language."  
The being _hmphed _amusedly.  
"A poor allegory, for sure, but he speaks the truth. I suspect why you can hear him has something to do with the fact that you know the true name of the Ancient Language. A word of such power would be sufficient to knock down the barriers that bar the two channels."  
Eragon was surprised by this revelation. He had not considered the Name ever since he had left Alagaësia. There was no doubt it was powerful, but could it do that?  
"Eragon."  
The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as the being pronounced his name, and he looked the starlight lion in those diamond depths, awe and fear in his mind.  
"Aslan is alone. I would be with him, but alas, I cannot. As powerful as I am, I cannot be everywhere at once. I ask you this; give to him a friend, and be the guide I cannot. He needs it, I fear. He is older than you, older than most elves and dragons, older than even Gilderien, as you call him, and yet he has not spoken a single word aloud. He is afraid of the world, inherently, though it is buried deep, unnoticeable to almost all. Please. Help him." that one word jarred Eragon's heart. A being of such power, all but begging him, no more than a flash in time's endless circle? It went against the very nature of things. But he could not refuse. For he too, had seen this, albeit he did not realise it consciously, and knew it to be true. And he felt a connection to the young lion (forever more, Eragon could not shake himself of that mistake, but Aslan's age and apparent appearance did not match up), a connection that he could not describe, a feeling that he neither comprehended, nor grasped, but he intrinsically knew what how he should act on it; he would give Aslan a friend, a supporter, whatever he needed to face his fear, even if it meant he stayed here for eternity. Looking at the peaceful form of the young cub beside him, he stroked Aslan's fur gently, scratching him behind the ears, and looked back at the starlight upon the obsidian, and smiled._

"And so it was. For many years afterwards, I lived in the afterlife, a spirit still attached to its physical body. I gave Aslan what my father had asked me to be for him; a friend, a supporter, a guide, but ultimately, I gave him a brother, someone he could trust and confide in. I lived with Aslan during that time, and I explored the various sections of the afterlife, watching and speaking with the beings in it." Eragon explained calmly, scratching Aslan absentmindedly behind the ears, who had long since fallen asleep as Eragon had related his tale. "Over this time, he grew; from that cub, fearful of the world, to a proud being, the one you see before you. As for the question I feel in all your minds, those visions of Jesus were infrequent, but real. I watched the one you call the Son of Man grow up, and I helped him on multiple occasions. But from that sacred water in the afterlife, it seemed I had caught a glimpse of what was in store for him, and the worst came true."

 _It had been a long day for Eragon. He had wandered through the many regions of that perfect realm, speaking with the many beings that inhabited that place, as was the practice he had adopted. It helped him alleviate his boredom, and, in a way, it was helping Aslan. Seeing these beings, all those that inhabited the realm, helped him to understand the world, and his fear was slowly diminishing. They had returned to the waterfall, that place where they had truly met, and had settled down to sleep. Eragon had, in time, become used to lying on the ground, and lying next to Aslan was a comfort, even if he didn't show it. Even then, twenty-three years later, he still yearned to return to Alagaësia, to go back to Saphira, to reassure everyone that he was fine. But he hid those thoughts, since his brother (for that is what he viewed Aslan as: a younger brother, a person to protect and cherish) was still fragile, and one tragedy or perceived betrayal might well throw him back to the state he had been in. Over the years he had spent there, he had tried to unravel the things he had seen in that water, and had had limited success, but there was one image that kept coming back to haunt him in his waking dreams when he was not visiting Jesus. A picture of a wooden cross, being dragged along by a person he could not see, a jeering crowd around him, natives and Romans alike (by this point he had explored Bethlehem, Jerusalem, and the surrounding places thoroughly, and understood the circumstances). He could not see the person dragging the cross, but he could see a purple garment around the person, and a crown of thorns about his head. As he drifted off once again, he woke up in a busy market square, the Temple before him. Oddly, there was no sign of Jesus anywhere. Whenever he woke up here, he was usually close to the boy-turned-man he had met all those years ago. Expanding his mind to search his surroundings, a faint whisper tickled the inside of his mind.  
'_Eragon… where are you?'  
 _The voice was unmistakeable, yet pain-filled.  
'_The market-place, opposite the Temple. Where are you?'  
 _This next reply shook Eragon's body.  
'_The main road. Eragon… I have been condemned to die. The Pharisees… they convinced Pontius Pilate to execute me, saying I was leading the Jews to overthrow the Roman occupation. They called me the second David.'  
 _An image,_ _ **the**_ _image, flashed before his eyes once more, and the person carrying the cross revealed himself. Jesus, eyes filled with pain, but expression set, neither angry, nor sad, nor vengeful, nor happy, but determined, resigned.  
'_I'm coming now. Even if they can't see me, I can try to bar the…'  
' **No!** Trust me, Eragon. This must be done. There is nothing you can do or say which will change this.' _The connection broke, and left Eragon staring blankly, disbelievingly at the Temple in front of him. Why would they do this? Jealousy? Vengeance? Anger? Fear? He couldn't understand it.  
'_Even if I cannot intervene, I will still make sure he dies painlessly. He deserves that much, at least.' _Eragon thought to himself, and ran towards the main street._

 _Eragon had followed the tatters of robes, purple and many other colours, down the main street, leading out of the city gates towards Golgotha. When he had been with Jesus, he had often seen people taken there to be crucified, a practice he had condemned for its cruelty and disregard for human life. A storm was gathering overhead. Dark, grey clouds, angry, spitting lightning and booming thunder, passing as a wave from the east to the west. He arrived at Golgotha, and watched in horror. Three crosses stood before him, upon which were Jesus and two other men. While the two other men were bound with rope about their legs and arms, nails had been driven through Jesus' hands and feet, and a sign hung above his head. Linking his mind to Jesus', he drew away the pain from the wounds, but the result disturbed him; instead of relief, a driving force pulled it back, ripping it from Eragon's body. As the clouds above him billowed, and blotted out the sun, a darkness overcame the land, and Jesus' head lifted weakly, and with his voice, cried out four words in that still unintelligible language, but Eragon could hear the meaning in Jesus' mind.  
'_My God, My God. Why have you forsaken me?'  
 _Jesus' eyes weakly found Eragon's own, and a smile curved his lips.  
'_Goodbye, Eragon, and farewell, but this is not the end. Have the patience to wait but three days, and we will see each other one more time.'  
 _From the city, Eragon could hear the almighty ripping as the Temple shroud tore in two, and an earthquake opened tombs. But he did not care. The one person in this place he had known, truly known, a person he had taught and been taught by, was dead. There was no way he was coming back. Collapsing onto his knees, he cried, the crystal tears staining the dark earth beneath him. For eternity, he stayed thus, shouting at the heavens of the need for Jesus to die.  
'_ **Why!? Why did he have to die? What was the point? Speak, whoever wrote that it should be thus, and reveal yourself!** ' _But there was no reply, and the lightning raged on._

 _Eragon stared sadly as the stone was rolled in front of the entrance, sealing him and Jesus inside. There was no reason why this had to happen. There was no need, no purpose. For three days and nights he stayed as thus, guarding over the body, protecting it from any who would attempt to harm it. But none came. Even with his execution, none dared defile a tomb. Upon the third day, the stone was rolled aside, and a being of light, shadowed by feathered wings, stood in the entranceway, obscuring the dawn light behind it.  
"Greetings, Spirit. Our Father thanks you for all you have done for his son, but your time here is finished. Return to whichever place you belong in, and let him go."  
Eragon shook his head firmly and his eyes held a fire that could not be ignored.  
"No. I will stay, and see him raised. Then I will go. He said to me 'have the patience to wait but three days, and we will see each other one more time.' I intend to honour that."  
The angel looked at Eragon oddly, and his eyes found something he could not refute.  
"Very well."  
Eragon watched as that which would come to be known as the Resurrection took place. Even though he did not understand how the Angel had achieved the feat, or why the entire process had happened, he greeted Jesus happily, embracing him and crying as his spirit was ripped from the world._

 _"Eragon! Eragon!"  
Aslan's urgent voice tore him from his sleep and he shot awake, and was blinded by the light emanating from his body. Brilliant light, golden and writhing. He did not understand what was happening, but he knew what it represented. His life-force had spiked. But why?  
"What's going on? What's happening?"  
The tone was panicked, and reminded him so much of the young cub he had met all those years ago. But then, he glanced properly at his body, and noticed it was transparent; he could see the emerald grass through his hand.  
"I don't know. But I feel my time is up. Aslan." Eragon said, and wrapped his arms around his brother's neck, calming the lion. "Look after yourself. I am sorry I cannot be here any longer, but I must go now. I fear my physical body is close to death, and I am being pulled back to save it, before I fully join this realm. Hush, little one. Have the patience to wait, and we will meet again. I am sure of that."  
Aslan was crying, fat crystals running down his cheeks, and he barely remembered what his father had told him to do.  
"Eragon… Father left this for you. He said I should give it to you if this were to ever happen." Aslan rolled a ball of swirling light to Eragon, black and white, neither more than the other. Eragon gingerly picked it up and the energy broke form and flowed under his translucent skin. Holding tightly onto Aslan, his vision became whiter and whiter, until he could not see anything and the only thing he was aware of was the blinding light._

 _"Eragon. Wake up, Eragon."  
The white took form, and coalesced into Aslan's father, and stood before the Dragon Rider.  
"If you are hearing this, you have already returned. Thank you for everything you have done for Aslan, and I cannot repay you enough. But I say this: You and Aslan are more than friends now. You are brothers, true brothers. At Aslan's insistence, I am giving you this: Should you wish to have a family, a true family, merely let one drop of your blood fall upon the stone you find upon your chest. It seals your connection, and makes you and Aslan brothers by blood, in accordance with the laws that govern me and mine son. Even if you refuse that, I have given you something, which you will discover for yourself upon your awakening. Thank you, Eragon, and farewell. Someday, you and Aslan will meet once again, that I am sure of. He has become the person he was destined to be, and only through you. Though one could argue Fate set this entire situation up." The being chuckled, and the light faded, letting darkness rush in the fill the gap._

"And that is the part of my tale which Aslan knew of at the time. Now I impart to you what happened after.

 _Eragon awoke, lying on a bed, covered by thin sheets, and dressed in the same clothes he had cast that spell in. He was exhausted; he could barely keep his eyes open, let alone move any of his limbs. Looking at his chest, he saw a small, round stone, pure white, almost shining with light. With a supreme force of will, he lifted his left arm from below the covers, and was shocked by what he found. A black scale, obsidian scute, protruded from his palm, covering the very centre of his hand. Bemused, he took his right hand, and slit his thumb on the sharp edge, and let one drop fall on the stone. It lit up, flashed, and faded from existence, leaving only a connection to his brother as the evidence such a stone had existed. That had drained Eragon, and he fell back to the mattress, not bothering to fix the cut, returning to sleep's embrace. Within his dreams, this image played out; a black dragon, flying high through the blue sky, over unfamiliar terrain, an unmistakable sapphire dragon by his side. They landed on a ledge of a cliff, and crawled into the following cave. He could not see them, but he knew whatever was happening in there was private. The image dispersed, and a picture of Saphira appeared, dozing on the same cliff, one mournful eye on the rising sun. She had grown since he had last seen her; before, she had been as high in the shoulder as two of the houses they had crafted before he had uttered the spell; now, she was much larger, easily towering over the sparse trees upon the cliff. How_ _ **long**_ _had he been asleep? His mind shook itself to waking with this thought, as pain rippled under his skin, and his bones contorted, snapped and reformed, and his clothes were ripped to shreds. The skin cracked, and more black scales pushed their way through the gaps. Eragon's jaw elongated, and flattened, his gums itching as razor-sharp teeth pushed their way to the surface. Falling to the ground beside the bed, his form enlarged, and two lumps pushed their way to the surface of the skin and burst through, revealing wings, as a tail did the same. The fingers lengthened, hardened, and became claws, and the pads of his hands and feet became harder, and puffed, the skin turning black all over his body. Two horns tore through the side of his head, and spikes of bone protruded from his back, following the length of his tail. By the end of the transformation, Eragon's entire body was sore and tired, as if he had been beaten endlessly with whips. Darkness once again enfolded its wings about his consciousness, and he settled down to sleep in his new form. No images plagued his sleep that time, but an overwhelming urge to find Saphira once he woke up ripped through his mind. Battling with the overbearing presence, he pushed its advance back, keeping his body under control and in sleep as it coped with the pain and trauma it had endured. Reluctantly, almost regretfully, it seemed, the presence slunk back to the depths of his mind, and peace returned._

 _Saphira was soaring the clear skies of the east, taking in the surrounding land and watching for prey, waiting for an antelope or deer to reveal itself from the grass to be hunted. In truth, she was distracting herself from the constant non-presence of her-beloved-partner-of-her-heart, Eragon. Ever since he had uttered that spell, his body had collapsed, the life all but drained from its shell, and nothing the elves or Eldunarí had done had roused Eragon from his slumber. The elves had continued with the construction of a dragonhold and a place for Eragon to lie until he returned to the land of the living on the insistence of Saphira and the Eldunarí. For three and twenty years, all Saphira had done was aid in the construction of the dragonhold and a temporary home for the-partner-of-her-heart, and explore the surrounding lands. Wolf-pointed-ears-two legs had contacted Arya, telling her of what had happened, and warning her not to send any Riders into the east, as they could not be properly taught. Idly expanding her mind to look for where the pointed-ears-two-legs were, she noticed a few deer in the tall yellow grasses, the countless insects beneath the soil, and not much more. But as the range of her probe steadily grew, the boundary passed over the shelter she had helped build to protect Eragon, and she noticed his mind was somewhat more… awake. It still felt asleep, but not in the same level of sleep in had been for the past twenty-three years. Intrigued by this development, she reset her course towards the shelter, wondering whether he had finally awoken._

 _Stone walls came into view, as Eragon's now sapphire eyes opened slowly, the third eyelid sliding back. It might have been the light, but now he could not see any difference in colour. There were no blues, greens, reds. It was all in shades of grey. Properly examining his surroundings, he found himself to be in a cave of some sort, the entrance blocked by foliage and rock, whilst an erisdar glowed in the corner, emanating light. Getting shakily to his now-clawed feet, Eragon padded to the entranceway, and brushed the leaves and stones aside. Streaming sunlight flooded through the gaping holes, and Eragon squinted through the onslaught as his eyes adjusted to the stream. Once he had adjusted, his gaze settled on the land around him. It was familiar. He could see the river they had sailed down, and the grasslands they had passed. He was scanning the landscape when an odd shape caught his eye on the horizon, the outline of some sort of building, which had not been there before. Unconsciously, the black membranes on his back unfurled, the leathery skin fluttering and catching in the wind. With nary a thought, he leapt into the wind, balancing precariously on the currents, gaining height and speed. When Saphira had shown him how it felt to fly, she hadn't been exaggerating the joy of freedom from the land for effect. His entire body thrummed with lightning pleasure, watching the ground pass below him. Shaking himself loose from those thoughts, concentrating on the reason he was in the air in the first place, he set his course towards the faint outline of the building, and his muzzle drew back in a smile. Oh, how sweet this was going to be!_

 _Saphira landed by the entrance to Eragon's shelter, and immediately she was befuddled. The concealment was torn down, but not to the size of a human, as if Eragon had walked out. Instead, a hole to fit a dragon her size was gaping in the opening of the cave mouth. Puzzled by these two conflicting facts, she weaved her head into the cave and looked around, and concern took hold. On the ground she could see shredded clothes, the ones Eragon had been wearing, and the bed had been moved closer to the wall, but otherwise, there were no changes. However, she could smell something… odd. There were no signs that anyone had entered the shelter, but she scented something that was undeniably Eragon, yet not. However, since she could not find any sign of another being in the cave, she decided that he had left on his own. But… that meant…  
'_Eragon? Where are you?'  
 _The tentative question hung in the air, seemingly unanswered, until that familiar voice spoke once more.  
'_Saphira! How **long** was I asleep?! How did you manage to build this place?'  
 _Saphira was at once overjoyed that the partner-of-her-heart had finally woken up, amused, as she always was, at his surprise, and confused. How had Eragon managed to reach the dragonhold?  
'_You didn't answer the question, little one. Where are you?' _The amusement now threaded into her mental speech, and she could all but see the smile on that face.  
'_This giant building… it seems scaled to dragon size, but apart from that…. You and the elves did well on this, if you built it. These caves you put in the cliff wall are very cosy.' _That sentence confused Saphira greatly. Firstly, she had not carved through the stone to make the caves. Secondly, Eragon had called them cosy, though they were nothing more than bare rock. Something was amiss here that Eragon was not telling her. Well, he was going to reveal what it was sooner or later.  
'_Eragon,' _She called in a sing-song mental voice, '_ what are you hiding, little one?' _The amusement she could feel on Eragon's end only increased, and laughter made its way over the link, but it was not completely human. Instead, there was a faint growl behind the merriment, growling that belonged to only one animal. Saphira's balance threatened to collapse upon itself with the implications.  
'_I think it is best if you see what I am 'hiding', Saphira. I have quite the tale to tell.' _The voice held the quality of one smug at knowing a secret, but also playful in giving revealing hints. Saphira's muzzle drew back in paired amusement and joy.  
'_I hold you to that, little one. Now which cave are you in exactly?'

"For many years afterwards, I and Saphira existed as dragons, guarding the East. Blödhgarm alerted Arya of my revival, and Riders-in-training passed into the place we set as our new stronghold. During that time, I found within myself the ability to change my form between that of the elf-human I was by nature and the dragon I was by magic, though I rarely took human form, doing so only to teach the new Riders. Saphira and I would spend much of the remaining time as dragons." Eragon could feel a resounding question in all their minds.  
"You wonder how I created that manuscript and book, don't you? During these years, I worked on perfecting the spell that started this tale. Saphira and the elves warned me from meddling with it, but I used it to return to your world. It seemed, though, that time in your world passes twice as fast as that of Alagaësia, for it was already what you called the 1500s, though a thousand years had not yet passed. There in Italy, I found a small order of monks, somewhat like the Arcaena, and requested they create the manuscript I spoke of when we first met. Later on, once I had perfected the technique once more, and met Paolini. I ordered him to create the book, and he did so for me. He then sold the work as fiction to the masses, and I left with my copy. I oft visited other places in your realm, too, seeking knowledge of how your world functioned." Now the question was different.  
"You again wonder why I and Saphira were mates? Our bond as dragon and rider morphed, changed and transformed into something deeper. We loved each other, but not as Riders love their dragons. We loved each other as mates, and there was nothing purer than that." Eragon paused there, unwilling to go into the details in front of such young beings, but he was saved from continuing that _particular_ train of thought by a questioning thought upon Edmund's mind.  
"To answer your question, Edmund," Eragon glanced at the younger siblings with bitter-sweet eyes, "because of my gift of dragon form from Father, I was not what would be called a 'normal' dragon (though whether 'normal' is an adjective that can be applied to dragons is up for debate). Because of what was, essentially, a divine connection, my form was inherently more potent and powerful, more imposing than a dragon by birth. I only discovered this when the new Riders began travelling from the East, and their dragons, unfamiliar with me, felt an urge to obey whatever primal instinct drove them to obey their royalty. My connection to Aslan had amplified the natural magic of dragons, and as such made me the only living dragon in Alagaësia worthy of the title as ' _skulblakakönungr_ ', even if I was not a dragon by blood. That, I think, answers your question, Edmund." The same nodded, a look of awe and shock in his dark eyes. Had he known he had been using as an insult tester, he would have stopped before he had even began.  
"Peace and prosperity ruled Alagaësia for many years to come. Sadly, I watched Nasuada, Roran, Katrina, Ismira, Elva, Hope, Orik, Hvedra, and Nar Garzhvog pass into the abyss, along with countless of their descendants. Glaedr and Umaroth, and many more of the Eldunarí besides, eventually felt that their connection to life had become too tenuous, and as such begged us at separate times to release them unto death. Reluctantly, and much to mine, Saphira's, and the elves' grief, I agreed, and granted them true peace. We stayed as such for millennia, watching over Alagaësia and guiding the people as I could. But unfortunately, peace did not last. History repeated itself. One of our own turned against us, in the same way as Galbatorix once did.

 _"Enough, Varzílar! This is pointless! Why would you do this? There was no need!"  
Eragon and the other stood on the blasted roof of the dragonhold, balancing on the precipitous ledge below which was nothing but air. Brisingr in hand, facing his former student, whose eyes burned with madness and cunning rage. The human across from him twirled his weapon, one of the swords that Eragon himself had taken from Galbatorix's castle a millennium ago.  
"There was, Eragon-_elda. _" The betrayer's voice was serpentine, honeyed, sweet lies, sour truths, mocking him with those words, words of one who knows what he wants, but only half-realises the acts he has committed. It unnerved Eragon how much like Galbatorix this one was.  
"You have governed here for too long, an immortal. You have become lax on your power. Your connection to your dragon is unholy, and must be cut from the world. Creation did not intend for you to do that, and neither did the gods, whichever may exist."  
Eragon's face was set grim. Saphira was but minutes away, along with Murtagh, Thorn, Arya and Fírnen, having subdued those Varzílar had tempted with hollow promises. Their dragons had been entrapped in earthen catacombs below the ground, in inescapable places, whilst the Riders were drugged and placed with them. The tempted had fought fiercely and with trickery, but they were no match for three millennium-old dragons. All Eragon had to do was delay and stall.  
"Tell me truthfully I have not led the Riders fairly. I meted out what was needed, and I helped those who were in peril. I took you in, Varzílar, after your parents were killed. Are those the actions of a tyrant?" Eragon asked quietly, a measure of apprehension in his voice over his former student's reply. Varzílar could hear this, and his calculating grin became almost diabolical.  
"You may not have acted as those kings in Alagaësia once did, but you have committed your wrongs in other places."  
That reply both raised Eragon's hope and depressed it. Such a reply could only be made by one not completely beyond saving, but if Varzílar meant it… Suddenly, his balance was undone as the very air vibrated like a thunderstorm, heralding the arrival of the three dragons over the horizon. Earth-thundering roars split the world, and ruby, emerald and sapphire materialised against the pink sunset sky. Varzílar's eyes widened as he realised the deceit and the look in those violet eyes turned murderous.  
"Very well played, Eragon-_elda _. Well played. However, I_ will _have my recompense for my ancestors."  
The words were mocking, dangerous, cold, and quietly furious. Varzílar raised his right hand slowly, with just enough time to make sure the three dragons were in range. Upon it the gedwëy ígnasia, pale and white, the silver sheen gone. Before Eragon realised the intention of that position, three cold, deathless words escaped his lips. The air crackled with invisible dark lightning, and a shaft of burning black shot through the air, splitting it. Eragon's mind immediately reacted, forming a wordless spell to guard the dragons coming, who saw the oncoming threat and swerved through the air, attempting to dodge the deadly energy. But to no avail. The channel split, and three smaller bolts targeted each dragon. The curs_ _è_ _d energy made contact, and immediately tore through Eragon's seemingly endless reserves. From nowhere, a spring of energy welled up, and fed the steadily decreasing reservoir, but it was not enough. He felt his mate's comforting presence lend her strength, along with Fírnen and Thorn, but it was still not enough. Arya and Murtagh pooled their resources, and still it was not enough. Almost, but not quite. Hoping the gods would forgive him for his actions,  
Eragon tapped into the surrounding wildlife to fuel the protection, and a wave of death spread out from the dragonhold. But still it was not enough. The last drops of Eragon's life were almost gone, before an unearthly presence melded his mind, and righteous fury flooded his body. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw golden light coalesce, and a paw stepped into his peripheral vision.  
'_Brother…' _Eragon, if he had not been on verge of death, would have been amazed by this, but all he could manage was one sparse word._  
'Hush, brother. Let us make sure this one receives his due, and take his seat in Tash's fiery pit.'  
 _A veritable cascade of shining silver poured through Eragon's inner eye, and the defences strengthened, thickened, and withheld the onslaught. After eternity, the endless devouring stopped, and Eragon righted himself on his feet, muscles sparking with nervous energy. Varzílar's eyes were wide, fearful and afraid. Eragon could see his former student's surprise at the appearance of this lion in front of him, and his incredulousness at Eragon's survival of guarding the dragons from that filthy magic. Eragon's mind acted quickly, racing into Varzílar's and enclosing and encompassing the last sanctuary. Waiting for the second betrayer to waver, he observed the entire wall, and struck. The strong-seeming wall shattered into shards, and the crux of his mind revealed itself. Varzílar panicked in this instant, and in the moment before Eragon could utter the spell to send him to sleep, Varzílar cried out in infected words, the Ancient language corrupted, a spell undoubtedly learnt from the remnants of the worshippers of Tosk.  
"_ _ **Jierda du malmr un kverst du mlatr. Verma du blödh eom néhvaët, un brenna du hamr. Atra fjándmathr iet waíse vergarío unin du mein un móthr abr eld. Atra dauthr älfrs waíse lang, un fyllaí medh mein, medh né frest!**_ _"  
Unholy pain, corrupting fire, unending agony, engulfed Eragon's being, and his mind and body, only so recently drained, shut down. He was unaware of what happened after._

"Afterwards…" Eragon choked out bitterly, "I learned that Fírnen had saved me from the worst. With the Name, he had twisted the majority of the spell's power from me unto himself. But in the face of such wrathful magic, he…" Eragon could not help it. He buried his face, running with tears, deep into his brother's mane, seeking solace and time to come to terms with the tale he had never told. The Pevensies waited patiently, enraptured, but also horrified by the tale they were experiencing. Eragon's memories had oft spilled over into their own, and they, all of them, had seen what Eragon had seen during the recital of his tale. Aslan, who could see that his brother was in no fit state to continue speaking, took up the mantle.  
"He did not survive. But in that moment before death, I and Father were able to pull Eragon, Saphira, Arya and Fírnen into Narnia, so that he may die in peace. On retrospect, it may not have been a good idea, but what is done is done." Aslan's words, like Eragon's, were bitter-sweet, happy and sad, joyful and miserable.  
"When they awoke in the west, bands of Calormen were upon them, but they realised the folly of such an action." The Pevensies could see images of Brisingr hacking through endless waves of men, wicked swords and ugly shields, as a flash of blue from the corner of the vision showed Saphira doing the same.  
"They ventured east, deeper into Narnia, and eventually came upon the Stone Table, where a meeting of the talking beasts and the royal line, which was not uncommon during those times, was taking place."

 _Eragon slid from Saphira's back, eyes sombre from their burial of Fírnen, while Arya lay upon Saphira's back; unconscious from the spell Eragon had placed over her to prevent her mad outbursts. He never thought he would see Arya reduced to such a state. The contrast between the Arya he knew and the grief-stricken elf-maiden before him was… disturbing. The animals and man stood firm with this seemingly impossible sight: a human riding a dragon, the most vicious and vile of beasts, the most despised of the races. The man stood from his seat on the stony plateau, and descended the steps, a look of cautious wariness on his face. It was not an old face, either; it held youth, the eyes were bright and shining, but still held the tempered reason of responsibility and adulthood. Eragon twisted his hand over his sternum, and gave the man the traditional elven greeting.  
"Atra esterní ono thelduin, könungr. __**Hvaët er nam onr**_ _?"  
Muttered whisperings reached Eragon's ears, as the animals spoke amongst themselves at these words, once again unnerving him. He had not been expecting such a change from Alagaësia. The king in front of him, apparently confused by the strange language, asked Eragon his name, and Eragon replied in turn. The king's name was revealed to be Mellean, a descendant of Frank I, the first ruler of the land. Eragon also learned that this land was called Narnia, and that this gathering of talking beasts and king were waiting for one they called 'the Great Lion'. His interest thoroughly peaked, since he could guess very well of whom they were waiting for, Eragon sat down upon the lip of the Stone Table, and waited. The beasts, wary of Saphira, but somewhat calmer, now they had heard Saphira would not attack them, returned to their places about the stony plateau. For an age, it seemed, Eragon waited, as the sun sank lower and lower into the horizon, and indigo night spread its wings. The animals and Mellean, convinced that the Great Lion was not arriving that day, went down from the heights of the hill on which the Table was set, and they dispersed among the forest glades and glens in the surrounding landscape. Eragon, though, knew better. Somehow, he could feel his brother becoming closer and closer, a presence solidifying in the peripheral places of his mind. As the moon revealed its mark_ _è_ _d face from behind dark clouds, movement drew his attention from the central pillars. Eragon turned his head, and beaming face met the quiet happiness of the other. Between the two stone columns stood his brother, the muzzle ever-so-slightly drawn back, exposing teeth in an amused smile. Before either of them could comprehend the moment, Aslan found himself rolling down the grassy sides of the hill, before coming to a stop, his brother clinging to him with unreserved joy, the happiness gleaming in his eyes. No words were needed. The two just embraced, happy the other was back._

Eragon pulled his face from Aslan's mane, and returned his reddened eyes to the Pevensies.  
"Those were the best of days for me and Aslan. We had each other once again, free from peril, danger and tyranny. But that, too, passed, as do all things."  
Eragon drew breath deeply, and projected the image of that fateful night into the children's minds, only the comforting presence of his brother allowing him to courage to reveal his darkest secrets, his deepest fears, his blackest acts. By the end, Edmund, Lucy, Peter and Susan were shaking with a mixture of fear, anger, pity, sadness and vengeful thoughts. Eragon felt a nudging at his shoulder, and saw Aslan motioning towards the heavens, which had clouded over, whilst crimson, fiery rays shot from the horizon. Nodding his agreement, Eragon turned back to the siblings.  
"Go. Return to your beds. You have heard my story, and now you understand what I have experienced. I do not expect you to forgive me of what I have done; I do not deserve that. Instead, learn from my mistakes, and mould yourselves as the rulers Narnia deserves. They need you, each of you. Peter, of your bravery and courage they must partake. Susan, of your wisdom and peace they must comprehend. Edmund, of your justice and will to right wrongs, they must accept. And Lucy," Eragon paused here, his voice choking momentarily, "of your innocence and perseverance they must adopt. Think on what I have said, and keep unto thyself thine counsel. It is yours and yours alone."  
The Pevensies nodded hesitantly, and stood up, returning to their tents in the valley below. Aslan and Eragon stayed upon that ridge, and once both were sure that the Pevensies were not in range of hearing or sight, broke down, the sounds of keening and sorrow permeating the air throughout the night. 

**Tense!  
So now you know how I link all those hints together!  
Yes, yes, this little experiment with magic on Eragon's part was inspired by astral projection (I get the feeling I don't have to explain what that means, since most people seem to know it nowadays).  
Onto translations!  
** _Ǫnd_ _, skaga!_ _ **:**_ _soul, project! (and now you know why I talked about astral projection)  
líkami tunglskins: body of moonlight (Hey, don't judge! I did warn you that this chapter was risky! Hardcore Narnia fans, you already knew I was bending canon somewhat, but don't go overboard, please!)  
Jierda du malmr un kverst du mlatr. Verma du blödh eom néhvaët, un brenna du hamr. Atra fjándmathr iet waíse vergarío unin du mein un móthr abr eld. Atra dauthr älfrs waíse lang, un fyllaí medh mein, medh né frest! : Break the bones (lit. Iron (remember Saphira talking about iron in her bones?)) and cut the flesh (Lit. Meat). Boil the blood until none remains (Lit. heat the blood to nothing), and burn the skin (take your own meaning). May my enemy die in ancient agony and fury (Lit. Be slain in the suffering and wrath of yore). May his death be long and painful, without respite!_

 **Next chapter: The famous analogy we all remember, right? You know what I mean. The argument between Aslan and Jadis, and then the Stone Table? I thought so. See you next chapter!** __

  
_  
_


	8. Chapter 8: A dream and a future foretold

**Hey guys! I am SO sorry! As I mentioned in my other story, I had exams, and they just finished, Thank God. There is a reason no-one does exams after Uni. They can be so annoying. Oh, and throw a healthy dose of writer's block in there for good measure. Now, a quick warning: I am changing my chapter structure radically, since I was having trouble keeping up that length.  
Disclaimer: I don't own Inheritance Cycle, blah, blah, blah, C.S. Lewis. I wish these things didn't need to be written in every chapter. **

****Chapter 7

The sky was beautiful; sapphire-blue, calm air with thermals, the sun beating warmly from the sky, and yet the black shadow in the sapphire sea couldn't concentrate. He was tense; anxieties gnawed his mind. Sapphire melted away. Blackness pervaded the air. Flashes of colour in the gloom. A silver-haired elf, a black blade, the point embedded in a black-clad glittering figure. Dissipation, reformation. A frail old man, anchored to the emerald grass below by silver, wordless lips breathing silent last. Colour to gas, and back again. Intangible light, details none, yet holding a man's shape, walking across the empty sea, silent, a bundle of gold in his arms. And finally, roiling water, sweet and deep, spray flying as a blur shot from its crystal expanse, and no more.

/

Safe. Calm. Sun. Crimson silk. Bed. All were things he felt upon waking, yet he still felt uneasy. The dreams troubled him. Such visions he rarely received anymore, and often they came true. Slowly and stiffly, Eragon balanced himself upon the ground, and walked outside. Momentarily squinting in the bright sunlight, he surveyed his surroundings. Sunlight, streaming flags, all emblazoned with his brother's likeness.  
' _Good morning, Eragon.'  
_ Oh, how comforting that voice was to him. He felt disconnected from the world, sadness a barrier from reality, grief a rotten veil. Anger smouldered deep inside, and clawed his mind with searing hooks. He could feel the temptation to cut loose, to leave once more, to simply let go forever, but he knew better than that. He had done that once before, and what had happened? Winter and oppression and betrayal.  
' _Blessings to you, brother. Where are you?'  
'Upon the ridge. You were still asleep when I awoke, so I let you lie. Are you better now?'  
_Another burden for him to carry. Concern.  
' _I feel… better.'_ A pause. ' _I do not think these wounds will heal, though. They have run too deep, too wide, too long. They are infected with grief, anger, and regret. I guess Brom's advice was right. The first way to soothe regrets are to confront them.'  
'Sage advice, indeed.' _ Aslan replied. ' _Words for you, though, Brother. No-one blames you for what you did. Not Peter, not Susan, not Edmund, not Lucy, not I. No Narnian holds you responsible. It was circumstance that plotted against you. You should not blame yourself, when no-one else does.'  
'Sage advice indeed.' _They both chuckled. The laughter soon died, as neither could keep their humour. An air of darkness hung upon both. They both saw it, but neither mentioned it. They both could guess what it meant. Somehow, Eragon knew, this was something of a last exchange. But that abyss would not hold for very long. Eragon sighed deeply, and gazed up at the faint columns upon the hillside. His mind knew one would die there, and the brothers would not question the choice. Eragon knew the inscription. He could not fulfil it. Gazing up at the blue sky, he smiled faintly, bittersweet. If an end came, he would enjoy all he had left before it came. He leapt, and his slim frame blurred and swelled, until Foríngandí's imposing bulk shadowed the sapphire expanse.  
' _We both know what he says is true, little brother.'_ The dragon of the pair replied. ' _It was not your fault.'_ But the argument was weak, at best. And besides, Eragon was absorbed with another matter. From the fractured images in his dream, a full, fluid vision was piecing itself together, slowly but surely. The sights contained would have horrified any other, but to Eragon, all he saw was an end that fitted the life he had led. He blamed himself for his acts; how could he not? No-one else had influenced him. It had all been his own choice. But as last image came into view, it scattered hiding all that lay after it.  
' _Once again you prove yourself right, Saphira. Fear not the future, for it does not exist and never shall. I see my future, and how could I fear it? It is all that comes from my actions. It is a result, nothing more, nothing less.'  
_

**The pain! Make it stop!  
Sorry about that, everyone. But the dramatic irony is kicking in, and boy, howdy, this is going to get grim later. Now, don't worry, the next chapter will be longer, but still not as long as the previous ones.  
Oh, and before I go, I have basically given away the entire plot in this chapter. Imaginary prizes to those who can guess how this is going to play out!**

 **See you next chapter!**


	9. Chapter 9: Death and Death coming

**Hey Guys! Really, really, _really, really_** **sorry this took so freaking long. When _was_ the last update? December? Yikes!  
Anyway, joking aside, just know this story is now going to be taking a slightly... dark turn. You'll understand what I mean when you read this chapter. And thanks to all those that have been supporting me and reading those monstrosities I called paragraphs in this story. I have no idea how you do it. I'll be sure to sort it soon! Oh, and there are no sarcastic marks in the footnote. I don't feel it suits the tone of the chapter. Enjoy...**

Dark. The tent is dark. Pale moonlight sifts through the thin silk, casting all in white and silver. The grass, the wood, the linen, the bundle of softly sobbing clothes on the ground, tear tracks, long since spent, glistening with salt on his pale cheeks. Pairs of eyes, green and watching, crying themselves outside the bloody cloth. Far up on the hill, the last foul embers of a impious rite, the source of the crying. A whirl of petals steps quietly in the night breeze, clear sap pooling at her eyes, leaking from the pink slivers of spring. Only one with a heart of stone could look upon the creature before them and not understand his plight.

The loss of only thing that had sustained.

The crying stops, silence rushing in to fill the void, cracking under the ravaging screams of pain from the writhing being under the stars. The two green pairs look away, focus and need drawn back to the pressing matter at hand.

A war.

Wings flail about, gouging earth and wood, slitting cloth and skin, crimson specks of life scattered across the midnight blue, glittering dully on the dull emerald stalks.

All is silent.

Edmund and Peter turn to each other, standing around the square of parchment, Oreius silently keeping watch a ways away, glancing sidelong at the still ball of grief and regret, cocooning in black blacker than the black of night.

They talk. It is half-hearted, distant, mind always settling back on a prominent point.

Eragon.

They had heard the conflict between him and the one he called Arya, who called herself the Raven mage, princess of Narnia. Sparks of anger and torment had been flung, spat from the fires of hatred and emnity, so embittered and entrenched.

The words had not mattered. It was her eyes. The dancing clouds of savage glee, lightning striking in hammer blows the accusations and barbs. Sequestered manipulations, so embellished with guilty memory, none could deny the effect. Bellowed insults, growls of warning, scale and claw ripping through reality, a reminder of limits.

White and gold had departed, loosing the cords and muttering words of treatise and compromise, much mistrust from both coal and onyx aside.

Their conflict grew silent, no more than burning glares and freezing glances, patient and stalking, two beasts circling each other, fangs bared. The silk was thrown open. Out came, to all, relief and pride. But one could see the price. He had seen it, he had known the consequence. But past holds no shield to the present's force. He had collapsed, staring almost blankly at the wavering blades, disbelief whirling in his mind, his eyes dark and seeing. Black and white had departed, gloating smiles and cruel remarks their only parting words.

Everyone had dispersed. Animals and human and everything in between, leaving only a limp form in the grass, arms and wings akimbo, dark tears of crystal running down his cheeks. Someone comes to help him. He doesn't know who. He can't remember who. He doesn't care. He lies down on the bed, gazing through flesh, cloth and sky. His mind is elsewhere. Back in times of happiness and simplicity, where nothing more than a king and the sword he must die by were the worries, the well-being of friends, and the only true family he had.  
They leave. It is still day. The sun has not set. He does not come. He does not comfort, whisper grievances, or smile sadly in parting. He is left alone, immobile under a silk canopy, blind and deaf to the world. Light streams through the cloth and the door. All he sees is darkness, as in the dead of the moon. No light shines. No birds sing. No responses to his affectionate remarks, no comfort for loneliness and regret, no memory for clinging to. He understands, yet wonders why it must be so. One died before. One died for the same reason. Why must another? Why must another give his life for a fruitless endeavour?  
Sun wanes. Night falls. Cold light falls to the earth. Crimson flickers in crimson. On the hill, he can see creatures and forms, twisted howls from seething lips flecking the clean air and blissful silence. Why will they not respect him? They do not know. He does not know. Faint words whisper on the night air, bitter on his ears and mind. Jeering and chanting and derogatory shouts of derision. He wants to scream to the wind, throw his anger upon their souls and make them suffer as he has. He cannot. He cannot bring himself to it. Still something holds him back, even now. He fights; he struggles against the chains that have no fear or favour, throwing his strength and magmatic fury against the bindings without check or inhibition. They do not break. They are him, and he cannot break himself. That has already been done.

Silence falls again on the valley, a brief respite in the agony he does and does not share. Then the voice rings out. _That_ woman, her serpentine, honeyed lies, silvered tongue and gilded face. Yet, he can still do nothing. He cannot move, cannot motivate himself. He knows the way forwards, and his place on that path. HE will take the cold iron, however it may come, and tear that devil's throat out. Her voice grates still on his ears, a reminder of a century spent in shame and guilt, fleeing and hiding from fate. No more.

The blade comes. His heart feels it, torn open and rent, warm life draining from _himnothim_. Vision flickers. The elf stands in his view, leering in masochistic delight, fingering a knife of black glass. She strikes. Once, twice, the sight is gone. He is alone in the dark. His body responds. He tries to get up. He falls. He lies there, crushing grass between his fingers, crying again. It always came back to the same question. Why. Why. _Why._ Why him. Why had he done this. Why had he begun what would inevitably be a cycle of death and torture. Why.

Some semblance of place returns. He stands up, deaf to the feeble cries of pain from the thin and shallow cuts on his arms and legs. He walks over, staring in weak resolution, no quirk of the mouth or appearance of humour. The act is gone. All that is left for him is what lies stretched out in his mind. He knows it will happen. He doesn't care about the outcome. About his outcome. Just theirs. He sheds one scale, dropping it as a marker on the yellowed paper, glancing in deep sorrow and woe at the two of them.  
The Fords of Beruna. The place where he will leave, so that others may stay. The place his own cross will be strung. Where he will give what little remains, so that what remains may live. His own Golgotha. His own Stone Table. His own sword. His own end.


	10. Chapter 10: The fords of Fate

**Hellooooooo worlddddd! I'm back from my half-year sabbatical!**

 **Feel free to spam reviews with 'It lives!'**

 **Now, this is the penultimate chapter, so we're very nearly to the end!**

 **I know this one's been a rollercoaster ride, so without further ado, I give you Chapter 10: The fords of Fate!**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

The gryphon soared, following the air currents as he wound his way back to the waiting army.

Ranks and Ranks of fauns, dryads and centaurs, along with the animals, leopards and rhinos and the rest of the menagerie.

At the tip stood a man with black skin, glinting in the sunlight, which upon careful observation turned out to be black scales, overlapping his body like armour. At his hip was a sapphire sheath, and at his leg was a transparent sheath, with a silver handle and diamond pommel.

To his left a figure in shining armour was seated atop a unicorn, a lion emblazoned on his shirt, his right hand resting on the lion-shaped pommel of his sword at his belt.

To the mounted figure's left stood a centaur, three swords hanging at his torso, upper body armoured.

Eragon watched as the gryphon circled and landed on Oreius' left, and reported to Peter.

"They come, Your Highness, in numbers and weapons far greater than our own."

He just kept staring off into the distance, eyes focused on the horizon. They would come. And if he was a casualty before that demon entered the fight, so be it.

"Numbers do not win a battle."

Oreius retorted, grim confidence ringing in his tone.

"No," Peter replied slowly, "but I bet they help."

Peter's attention was drawn to the rocky outcrop, where Otmin, the White Witch's Minotaur general, had appeared and was roaring his challenge.

Slowly, the first line of the White Witch's army came into view: a mish-mash of creatures, broken and mal-formed. There was nothing of anger or its ilk in his mind. They had made their choice. And he had made his.

 _'Come, Arya. Let us settle this, as we should have far before.'_

The White Witch herself rolled into view in her chariot, resplendent in a chainmail dress, a golden crown on her head, adorned by tatters of Aslan's mane, wand in her hand.

Reins in the other, she throbbed with arrogance and pride, the glinting malice and foul pleasure seen upon her visage in the teeth-baring smirk.

Beside her stood Arya, armoured by scales of steel, flashing silver under the scratched black paint, Támerlein hanging by her side, the emerald corrupt and dull, sucking hungrily at the beating light of the afternoon. By her leg, a small knife, that same knife of black glass, strapped as Albitr was, the reflection and antithesis of himself.

Their gazes locked, and forest green eyes flickered and spat with savage glee against his hazel, empty and void of emotions.

If he had been as he had been, the void inside would have been filled with anger and hatred, scorching white-hot, burning black and fierce on the world, growing ever stronger, unquenched.

But that was not him. No longer. Inside, he felt naught but pity. Pity for her plight. Pity for her mind, twisted by honeyed lies, and misled from the path.

"I have no use for prisoners. Kill them all." The White Witch stated simply, gazing upon the final collection of her enemies, disdain clear in her tone.

Otmin roared, eliciting a rousing cry from Ginarrbrik, before the front lines of the army rushed forward as a mob, disorganised but dangerous. From his position by Peter, Eragon's eyes were fixed still upon Arya, slowly comprehending her pain, her loss.

 _'I am sorry, Arya. I let you go too far into the dark. But even if my life is forfeit, I will have you see the light once more, before the day is done.'_

Peter lowered his sword in signal, and the gryphons flew forward, carrying rocks between their paws. Eragon swiftly warded them, lacing enchantments to destroy all attempts of harm.

As the horde advanced, Otmin spotted the aerial threat and drew the attention of the black dwarven archers, who immediately took aim and fired at their airborne attackers, who had already begun dropping their cargo. Each missile shattered on the arcane forces, falling to earth useless.

 _'There is only one that must die today, Arya. I refuse for any more innocent blood to be spilt on my hands.'_

This he projected into her mind, stare unwavering, as the flames behind the emeralds jumped ever higher, a gloating smile on her face, as she levelled Támerlein's point at him, speaking into his mind.

 _'_ Any more, _you little coward? Your hands are stained with the blood of thousands, and yet you place importance on a bunch of talking animals, not even of your homeland._

Hypocrite _. Have you forgotten? My mother's blood is on your hands. She fought for you, and she died fighting. Fírnen too. He died to save you, and you would remember him only as a part of the faceless horde that perished so that you may live? Disgraceful. '_

As the gryphons wheeled around, retreating to safety, Peter turned to both Eragon and Oreius in turn, and asked: "Are you with me?"

"To the death."

 _'To the death, and forever after.'_

Came the replies, one from his left, the other echoing inside his mind.

Knowing the inevitable, Eragon unsheathed Brisingr, watching the millennia-old blade glitter as on the day of its forging, under the needled pines of the guarding forest.

 _'Thank you, dear friend. You have weathered aeons with me, and your rest is well earned. May this be the last day you must draw blood in the name of peace.'_

The sunlight flickered on the brightsteel, almost smiling in agreement and blessing.

In the warm air, a single cry cracked the silence and tension, as Rhindon did so similarly, thrust high as the beacon for freedom and hope to all.

The armies surged, the thundering of hooves and the drum beat of footsteps, pounding relentlessly on the grassy plains.

At Peter's side, Eragon kept time with the unicorn's rhythm, charging fearlessly into the horde, focused only on those jewelled orbs.

His mind was void of fear for death; he knew it was here he would fall. But beyond that, there was a wall of determination, all for the one that had betrayed him. He harboured no anger nor resent.

Merely a wish. That she should see the light once more, once more, free from the machinations of her gaoler.

 _'I am sorry, dear one.'_ he thought to himself, her sapphire gaze vivid in his mind's eye, as the mass of bodies and wall of sound enveloped him.

/

The rhythmic clash of steel against steel echoed among the fords, keen edges opening weeping wounds, pounding again and again on its kin, the screech of metal against metal cutting its own injuries into the muddled air.

Lance on sword, shield on mace, arrows on armour, again and again the tools struggled for dominance, while one glittering dark shape danced amongst the fighting.

No anger, no hatred, no pity. Only regret. Regret for those he had no chance to save from the dark, as each flame was snuffed by the arcs of flashing light.

Upon the outcrop, where Jadis herself had stood mere minutes before, Eragon watched silently, observing the seething mass of warriors and beasts, waiting patiently for her.

A dull scimitar hissed back his cheek, prompting a brief flash of blue, and spurting crimson.

They were being driven back. There, on the plains below, a clear line was drawn, with the line of crimson-clad soldiers fighting valiantly, but retreating steadily to the ridge.

Reaching deep within, he saw the divide, saw the line, and drew it in fire, trapping their forces beyond the wall of flames.

And then, with her eyes flashing in the sapphire flames, he saw her, glaring with malevolent joy behind the inferno.

 _'Tsk, tsk, Eragon. Have you learned nothing, little drakeling? Fire cannot defeat ice.'_

He said nothing in return, gazing still sorrowfully down on the wasted blood staining the golden fields.

 _'Fire may indeed be extinguished, Arya, but the ice itself does not survive the encounter, either.'_

The barrier fled, roiling chills of cold air washing up against him, a pillar in the sea of battle, his starlight tresses blinding as the lamp of a lighthouse, bright and shining in the noonday sun.

"Fall back! Draw them to the rocks!"

Peter's voice reached his ears, but he paid him no heed. He knew, in the eaves of his minds, that Arya would want it to be her blade that ended his existence.

As the tide withdrew from the plains, soldiers fleeing and chasing, he waited, ever-patient, for that golden chariot to reach him.

"Eragon!"

Peter's voice came again, addressing him. His only reply was the flash of blue against his opponent, and a message.

 _'I will be well, Könungr. Take your troops, and fall back. My past waits for me.'_

He could sense Peter's conflict, before the king wheeled around, the hoofbeats fading to the crags, along with the shouts and cries and pain.

The many battlefields he had seen, from Farthen Dûr to Borg'ran Aiedails, came back to him, each opponent amalgamated into one being.

Durza, a shadow of a shade, grinning with bloody hair, his sword at his side, standing arrogantly on the marble floor.

Next, Murtagh, Zar'roc, glinting bloody under the smoky light on the Burning Plains, eyes set in conflict.

Then, him, greying hair and golden helm of the Broddring flickering in the torchlight, the bone-white metal glinting also.

And Varzílar. The youth of violet eyes and raven hair, haggard atop the dragonhold, coated in dirt and grime, golden dragon hide blowing in the smoke-laden wind.

And finally, the last. As it was. As it is. As it was always meant to be.

Her.

"Reminiscing?" She drawled, flanked by a guard of Minotaurs, axes ground to a fine edge.

"Only on what would have always happened." He balanced Brisingr's tip on the rock, hands set on the pommel, still and unwavering, the figure of a watchman. "We both knew this was to be."

"Yea." She snarled, shooing aside her guard, levelling Támerlein at him. "You, dead at my feet, in recompense for the ocean of life that has perished in your name, for your cause."

He said nothing still, silent against her words, seeing her anger pour out into the air.

No reply.

"So, how much does it hurt, coward?" She advanced, the tip of her needle-green sword pressed to his throat. No fear. No emotion. Not even a flinch.

"To have what you hold so dear ripped from you so and held from you by the perpetrator? Does it hurt, Eragon?" She hissed the last in his ear, eyes inches from his own. And at last, he chose his words.

"Once, perhaps, it did, Arya. But my death and the pain are no longer so bitter. It saddens me so that you have done this, but I know in my heart my death is for far more than simply the justice of the horde. It is for justice of me. It is for your freedom."

Her face split in a mocking smile, false laughter in her eyes.

"In such that your death frees me of your putrid existence. Do not mislead yourself by false hope. This is my own choice, my own thoughts, my own hatred." Támerlein's point pushed harder, sending a trickle of blood down into the crevasses between Eragon's scaly armour.

"You dare imply I am controlled? That I have taken leave of my senses?" Something dangerous cracked behind her eyes, and the fine edge was brought to bear on his throat. "You have _gall_ , for one so unwilling to face his own actions."

Sighing, Eragon stepped away from the blade, lifting Brisingr from the rock, letting it balance in his hand one last time.

"The feelings are yours, certainly. Of that, I have little doubt. But as to who holds the reins of them, I question your faith in your mind's strength."

Arya's face, with that, schooled into a vicious mask, Támerlein's edge whistling for his neck, stopped short by Brisingr's own.

Internally, Eragon had hoped Arya would see past Jadis' control, her true mind pushing the witch from her consciousness, but he was resigned to accept that fighting her was inevitable.

"How much of you wishes to swing that blade upon my neck, Arya? What part of you hates me so, that it wishes to skewer me upon your own sword?"

"Words shall serve you no victory, traitor. Now fight! Let me see you beg for mercy at my feet, for this entire pathetic world to see!"

* * *

Far from the fords, a lion wove and ducked among grass and sparse trees, his destination the tall, lone spire in the Northern Wastes.

In his mind, Aslan could see the conversation between his brother and Arya, listening through their bond.

In truth…it saddened him. It saddened him so to see his brother so far resigned to his passing, standing in the deadly heat of battle with no real fear of pain or death.

He hardly noticed when he, and his two passengers, arrived at the gates of Jadis' fortress, and his eyes fixed on the lapis statue of his brother's love.

His mind focused on heavier things, he watched silently as Lucy and Susan cried before the statues of Saphira and the fawn, before tearing open the cocoon of magic woven around each, moving into the inner courtyard of the castle.

He felt unready to speak with Saphira, knowing full well just how much her ire would burn at the knowledge of Eragon's state of mind.

Stopping himself, he shook his head, his mane rustling quietly in the cold air, as he tried to dispel the doubts in his mind.

But to no avail. The doubt remained in his mind. Doubt of Eragon's will to live, and in this, he found something he had not felt for millennia.

Fear.

Fear for his brother's life, and for the mind of his mate.

 _'Aslan?'_

Pushing aside the foreign feelings, he turned his attention to the sapphire dragon, the voice he had not heard for a century.

 _'Yea, Saphira. I am here. I trust you are unharmed?'_

He received her affirmation and was about to speak of Eragon, before withholding his tongue.

 _'Perhaps it would be better if you stayed here, for now, Saphira. This castle is void of shadow dwellers. Jadis abandoned it for a war footing not too long ago. You should be safe here.'_

The lie was bitter in his mouth, burning his tongue like vitriol, but he couldn't bring himself to tell her the truth of the matter.

 _'Hmph. I suppose I can concede on this matter, Aslan. However, I expect you to lead me to Eragon once I have finished laying. The eggs were near a century ago, and I must still have them see light.'_

He sent silent confirmation, fixing his mind on the task at hand, freeing as many soldiers as he could from their entrapment. Even so, that seed of doubt kept in the cranny of his mind, waiting patiently.

* * *

Upon the outcropping, arcing blades of blue and green flashed and clashed, sparking and struggling against one another in their test of dominance.

Around them, the ring of guards waited impatiently, readjusting their grips on their weapons; they dared not interfere with the duel before them, lest their princess have their heads.

Within the hurricane of woven steel, two elves, one with tresses of raven black, the other starlight silver, whirling in dervishes of sword strikes against their opponent.

Under this, a more subtle battle, that of words spoken in the mind, raged just as fiercely, if not more so, emotions their swords.

As Eragon swung around, Brisingr held to his face, parrying a vertical slice, he was reminded of the many times he had sparred with Arya, throughout the war and after.

 _'Give up, Eragon. One of us will falter eventually. Spare yourself the anguish and let me end it for you painlessly.'_

A face of focus was frozen on Arya's face, but her mind still held traces of that hatred and arrogance against him, her emotions pounding against the rock of his mind.

 _'Prove to me that this hatred is of your own volition, and I will let you end me. For you, my death wrought from Jadis' honeyed lies would be a false victory.'_

Despite her concentration, a small smirk appeared on her face, as she deflected a thrust aimed for her collarbone.

 _'Still convinced my mind is not my own, Eragon? You are delusional. But, I suppose being without that which you care for most will drive most to insanity. Would you not agree?'_

If Arya was trying to bait a surge of emotion, she did not succeed. Eragon's mind remained blank of such fire, but the ever-present wall of pity and regret was unwavering.

 _'You think me mad? Very well. Judge my actions, and see if they are truly that of a madman.'_

And with that statement, as he pushed aside the strike to his chest, drove Brisingr's point into the cold granite, cleaving the stone with a pure ringing note.

"I fight you no longer, Arya. The object of your hatred stands before you, as you have wished for these many years. So go on. Take your revenge, and rid me from the world. I will not fight."

Momentarily, Arya's eyes showed her surprise, though it was swiftly suppressed by a bout of cruel laughter.

"Are you really so eager to die, Eragon? That you rid yourself of your sword and invite me to release your head from your shoulders? Very well, coward. I shall grant your wish."

Stepping forward, she cut the knife from his thigh, staring at it in curious disdain, before discarding it to the fields.

Instantly, Eragon retracted his scaled armour, leaving no protection against the piercing needle of steel.

That same sword flicked to his chest, resting on the blue scale above his heart, its wielder's face split is victorious glee, her eyes dancing in the realisation that her vengeance and the flames of her hatred would then be quenched in his blood.

And yet, deep in her eyes, in her mind, Eragon could see a conflict. A struggle. Doubt. Briefly, a happy smile graced his lips, before flitting away to more gentle lands.

"Something you wish to say?"

Closing his eyes, cloaking his sight in night, he spoke, his gladness clear in his voice.

"Your hesitation tells me everything I need know. Before me stands not the Arya I knew, but the puppet. And that puppet has no strength against the elf-maiden I saved all those millennia ago."

Though his sight was obscured, Eragon could still feel Arya's anger, not conveyed by the spoken word, but untamed roiling waves of scorching liquid metal washing up against his mind.

And yet, in those blinding depths, he could see her doubt, a chill, quenching her anger to dust.

The intensity, the screaming wash of metal bore down upon him, and took him in its grasp, as the cold steel pierced his breast, the pain ignored, no more than a tickle in his mind.

For a while, he was pulled along in the tide, but slowly, the torrent was losing strength, losing heat, until it froze over. Around him, the faint sounds of pain and screaming, and the shock of betrayal, before he opened his eyes once more.

Implanted there, in his chest, lay Támerlein's hilt, slid between the slats of bone, its keen point piercing his lung. Before him, panting in exertion stood the one he had once met, the knife slipping loosely from her grasp, the corpses of her guards littering the fields in a ring.

From the grassy fields below, their eyes met. In those tumultuous emeralds, Eragon saw once more anger and hatred. But he saw also sorrow and pain and anguish and self-loathing.

The obsidian blade fell from her grasp, her chest rising and falling in snatched breaths, her eyes distraught, tears pouring down her blood-flecked cheeks, leaving unsullied river beds of pure skin, so much like the warrior he had known.

Descending from the jagged rock, unbothered by Támerlein's steel scraping his ribs as he walked, he embraced her shaking form, letting her pour her regret and sadness out on his shoulder.

For a full minute, the two were frozen thus, all thoughts of fate and battle forgotten, and all that mattered was there, the two displaced warriors, standing amidst the fields of emerald and gold, stalks of grass fluttering in the Narnian wind.

And there, on the golden fields, their hands met, the silver marks sparking against the other, as the spells woven upon the night before took hold.

"Forgive me."

* * *

Pain.

If he had felt any before, any at all, so numb as he was to it, it had faded into the wind.

He felt many things in that instant. The cool grass on his skin, tickling his ears and feet. The soft breeze caressing his chest, ruffling his hair, blowing strands of silver into his vision.

The warming trail of his blood flowing down his side, leaking from the slit in his chest.

Touch was all he felt. No sight. No sound. No taste. No white clouds upon the sapphire sky...

Deep down, he felt a twinge of sadness. No fear, only sadness.

No pounding of feet, no voices crying in the midst of battle. Only the silent whistle of the breeze.

Something burns in his chest, down his throat, stemming the tide, and opening his eyes to the light.

There it is...the idle clouds, so transient, a brief flash against the eternity of the sky.

He feels something. The soft touch of fur, wrapped around his body, holding him close.

 _'Brother, please...touch me not.'_

The hold on his chest just tightened all the more, and faint sobbing finds his ears.

 _'I don't...I don't want to lose you...'_

It was not the voice of the great leader, the figurehead, but the scared little cub, the one he had met once, so very long ago.

 _'Shh...dry your eyes, little one. I will live still, in your memory. You will still see me in Saphira, in Arya, in Foríngandi, in your kings and queens. I will not be gone.'_

Hot tears fell on his shoulder, and finally, his eyes saw what they were looking at.

 _'I don't... I don't want to see you through... through someone else. I want...to see...you. I need you, Eragon.'_

One by one, the faint clouds were disappearing under the sun's gentle gaze, and the warmth of the afternoon permeated him.

 _'You do not, Aslan. You were always a better person than I ever could be. Never forget that.'_

And finally, the last cloud dissipated, leaving him staring at the eternal expanse of the clear sky, that pervading warmth lulling him into gentle slumber.

* * *

 **...**

 **...**

 **Okay...**

 **Sorry, all jokes aside, that chapter was particularly emotionally draining for me.**

 **There is a confession of sorts from me here; some of Eragon's sentiments throughout the story, I adapted from my own beliefs and opinions. It's somewhat hard to express them in speech, and using writing like this gives me the perfect outlet.**

 **On a slightly brighter note, I have decided that we are getting a sequel! 'The Chronicles of the Dragon Riders: Prince Caspian' is coming!**

 **And since this is my first (almost) completed story, I'm asking all those invested in this story to give me plot ideas.**

 **And that is all from me. If you want more like this, I have an Inheritance cycle X hobbit crossover going at the moment. Use it to tide you over until the sequel arrives (shameless story placement is shameless ;) )**

 **Anyway, I will see you all for the epilogue. Farewell, all!**


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